


Divided Destiny

by elisi



Series: Maybe Someday [3]
Category: Angel: the Series, Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Genre: Action/Adventure, Epic, F/M, Friendship, Gen, Other, Quests, Wolfram & Hart
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-05-26
Updated: 2017-12-09
Packaged: 2017-12-13 01:32:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 15
Words: 45,305
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/818392
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elisi/pseuds/elisi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Angel, Spike and Illyria go on an epic quest, across untold dimensions, to undo the power of W&H.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is the sequel to ‘Maybe Someday’ (or, more accurately, Maybe Someday was the prequel for this), in which Spike, Angel and Illyria turned up in Rome and encountered Buffy (Sept. 2004). During the following week Buffy and Spike started dating (and working through their issues), Illyria picked up some handy portal opening powers and Angel got a lead on someone who used to know the Wolf, Ram and Hart. This fic starts the evening after that fic ended.

The desert lay silent and still under the vast blackness of the night’s sky. Then the air began to shimmer and tear apart, and a moment later a hollow of nothingness hung above the sand.

Through the rent stepped three figures. Two males clad in leather coats - one tall and dark, one slim and blond; both carrying themselves with the unconscious easy authority and self-assurance of warriors long accustomed to battle. 

The third figure was female in shape, but its demeanour spoke of otherness and its eyes were as old as time and chilly blue.

As the rift closed behind them, the figures looked around.

The blond one studied the landscape, identical sand dunes surrounding them on all sides.

“So... any idea where we’re going? Or are we going to blunder about like the lost children of Israel?”

The dark haired one sighed, then turned to the third member of the party. 

“Illyria. This sorcerer we’re looking for is said to be very old, very powerful and fairly easy to sense...”

The blue entity closed her eyes and stood immobile for a while. Then her eyes snapped open.

“This way,” she said and set off across the sand.

The other two looked at each other, shrugged, and followed.

“So...” The blond one said lightly, after a few minutes’ silent walk. “Did you have nice time these last few days?”

The dark one studiously kept his eyes fixed on the horizon.

“It was... OK,” he finally answered.

The other cracked a wide grin. “Oh come on Angel - you smell all over like werewolf! Where’d you go?”

“Cabo... in Mexico.” Angel tried to keep a smile out of his voice, but didn’t quite succeed.

“Nice one!” his companion replied, his wide smile deep and genuine. “Gotta say you’re a lot easier to be around when you’re gettin’ some - must remember to get Dog Girl somethin’ nice to show my appreciation.”

Angel’s smile vanished. _“Spike!_ For the last time - don’t call her ‘Dog Girl’ - she has a name.”

After a moment’s silence, wherein Spike frowned and thought hard, a reply was forthcoming. “Can I call her Wolf Girl then?”

Angel opened his mouth and then closed it again firmly.

“Hey,” Spike continued, “Does this mean that she’s finally forgiven you then?”

“Something like...” Angel answered. “Although not having actually seen her since May it was kinda hard to make up before now.”

“S'pose,” Spike shrugged. “Still - can’t help but thinking that coming home from holiday and seeing that half of LA had been turned into a hole in the ground should have made her a little grateful that she was away...”

“She was mostly pissed off that I broke up with her,” Angel cut in.

“Oh...”

There was silence for a while, then Spike frowned again.

“This sand is bloody annoying. Oi - Illyria! Can’t you make a new portal taking us a couple of miles further on?”

Illyria kept walking without a word. Spike grumbled.

“She’ll take you to friggin’ _Mexico_ , but she won’t make life just a little easier... my boots are getting full of sand.”

Finally, without breaking stride, Illyria replied. “My powers are not unlimited. And I will not pander to your lassitude.”

Spike rolled his eyes. “Great. Smack-down from the Blue Bitch.” 

They walked on, the surroundings an endless repetition. Then Angel suddenly halted.

“Can you feel that?” he asked, and Spike looked at him sceptically, one eyebrow raised.

“Feel what?”

“Something... _powerful.”_ Angel wore the same slightly paranoid look he’d so often displayed at W &H.

“Sorta....” Spike replied cautiously. 

He did feel something - and he didn’t like it. It made the hairs on the back of his neck stand up, prickled under his skin and quite frankly all he wanted to do was to walk away in the opposite direction. Overall the sensation was far too similar to how he’d felt when he’d entered the cave in Africa, seeking out his soul. The sense that there was something _old_ and _dangerous_ that shouldn’t be there. 

More than two hours later they finally came to a tall cliff. As they neared it, they could see a perfect semicircle of bleached bones - full skeletons of various desert animals laid out at uneven intervals. 

Illyria stopped and smiled disdainfully. 

“He hides behind a wall of power. Stay back - it kills any Lower Being.”

She nodded towards the dead animals and then reached out with one of her slim hands. The air began to lurch and wave, and then with a sharp movement she made a large gash in the barrier, motioning the vampires to step through. 

Spike followed Angel, and yet he couldn’t shake the feeling that it was some sort of trap... that something bad was going to come of this.

As they neared the cliff face, they saw a cave about halfway up - a narrow, barely visible flight of carved steps leading up towards it at a dizzying angle. Illyria started climbing as though she was walking along a wide path, but Spike and Angel found the exercise somewhat daunting. 

_‘I’m bloody well jumping down when we leave!’_ Spike thought to himself, as he tried to cling to the rough stone where a couple of steps had nearly vanished.

Finally they reached the cave entrance, and as their eyes tried to penetrate the severe blackness inside, there was a spark in the dark. 

Slowly a bright flame started to shine - far brighter than any fire had the right to. A black hand plucked up the flame and placed it on the wall in a small metal holder, and the place was bathed in light - as bright as if the sun had shone down through the roof.

There was a moment where they all assessed each other. The owner of the cave was human in shape, but its skin was sleek and black, its features sharp and canny. As it moved there was a sudden and odd flickering of shadows in the corners - strange shapes stretching and fluttering.

The creature cocked its head, staring at Illyria so intently that the rest of the world could have stopped existing. Then it spoke, its voice strange, hoarse and rasping, and Spike wondered in earnest what the thing _was._

“How come an Old One is walking the earth again? Why is Illyria not resting? Why is It here, in such diminished form? I recall beauty and majesty and grace and power beyond any other, and what I see here is but a shell and a shadow. _Why?”_

Illyria made no movement, but after a while her eyes narrowed a tiny fraction.

“You are The Raven. I thought you would have perished long ago.”

She slowly let her eyes travel around the cavern. “You have fallen out of knowledge, living on nothing but air and darkness. I will not answer your questions - but you will tell me much.”

Then she held out a hand, placing it on the creature’s head. It fluttered momentarily, but didn’t move. After a moment Illyria smiled - that small, cruel smile they knew meant that she had found something.

“You betrayed them - The Wolf, The Ram, The Hart - _trickster_! They banished you, seized what power you had.” She nodded slowly. “They might yet conquer all.”

The creature hissed and sharply withdrew. “It was not me. It was _them._ They found a source of power, deep and dark, but they would not share, would not allow anyone else to know. They asked me to set up The Circle of the Black Thorn - thinking that I would be content to be their puppet. Follow their rules. Their scheme.”

Shiny black unblinking eyes fastened on them each on turn. “It wasn’t betrayal. It was vengeance.”

Illyria had gone utterly still. “They found power pure - how? Where?”

The odd creatuer make a strange spitting, strangled sound - anger billowing out in large, sharp, inky black shadows. “You think I know? You think I would be _here_ if I knew? They grew. They expanded. They saw the humans take over the world and they saw their chance to fight from below. Hidden. They are wise. The world turns and the darkness grows.”

There was a pause; then The Raven, curtailing its fury, studied the vampires and became puzzled. “Why does Illyria travel with vampires? Surely there must be more worthy servants to be found.”

Spike could feel Angel tense at his side, but Illyria shrugged.

“They are Champions of the people and mortal enemies of The Wolf, Ram and Heart. They destroyed The Circle of the Black Thorn.”

The Raven suddenly inspected them more closely. “Vampire Champions... how much this world has changed.” Its eyes darting between Spike and Angel, it asked, “The whole Circle dead? Every member?”

Angel looked back, impassive. “The Circle is... _gone_. But you were once close to those we fight. Tell me - how do we kill them?”

The Raven stared at him silently for a long while, then it shook its head. “They are Immortal demons like I, from the edge of time. They cannot be killed. Now they do not even reside on this plane...”

“Yeah - The Home Office. Heard all about that - even stole The Band of Blacknil once. Much good that did.”

A sudden look of what might be respect passed over the black creature’s face. “You had a Band of Blacknil?”

“Didn’t work.”

The Raven blinked rapidly, studying at Angel. “They must have disenchanted it. A Champion coming to The Home Office.... Bad. Bad.”

Angel was staring at the other one as though he’d been smacked hard across the face. “You mean The Home Office is _real?”_

“Of _course_ it is real. Foolish vampire - so little knowledge and understanding.” The Raven was sneering now.

Spike observed silently. Half the stuff made no sense and the other half was less than useful. And the place seriously freaked him out. No wonder Illyria felt at home.

Illyria, ignoring Angel, spoke again. 

“Can their power be undone?”

The Raven looked from one to the other, then after a final penetrating stare at Angel abruptly turned and swiftly strode to the back of the cave, as large black shadows danced across the cave walls in eery unnatural skittering.

“There is a tale of a Key...” the voice drifted towards them, rasping against the cold stone and making Spike shiver as he sent Angel a look.

“The Dead Key...” he said, remembering the ancient text in The Council’s library that had sparked their quest in the first place - sent them slowly moving down through Europe, searching for someone who might tell them more.

There came a strange almost-cackle back at them.

“Not so foolish after all maybe. A Key fashioned long, long ago - some say by The Powers themselves. Nobody knows. A Key of Living Energy, built to undo and destroy the Power of the three we hate...”

“Where is it? Can we find it?” Angel’s voice almost cracked.

The Raven walked towards them with something clutched to its chest, a dark shadowy wing span suspended above it on the ceiling. Ignoring Angel it fastened its eyes on Illyria.

“But it was never finished. The Wolf, Ram and Hart found it before its completion. They could not undo it, but they killed it and broke it. Scattered it over many worlds, leaving the pieces to be guarded by their most trusted servants.”

It held out its hands, revealing a strange curled-up grey lump inside.

Illyria shrunk back, a look of revulsion on her face.

“Dead Energy... How did you get this?”

“There are ways. I am good at... concealing myself. And my thirst for vengeance only grew after they drained me. I do not have the power to undertake to find the other pieces... but if you will swear to do it, to finish it, you can have this.”

Spike felt his bullshit-o-meter ping high and loud. 

“But if it was never finished, what’s the bloody point? And if it’s dead - like _dead_ dead - it won’t work whatever we do.” He looked at the horrid lump with distaste. “Seems like a wild goose chase to me.”

The Raven sent him a look that almost made Spike reach for his sword. 

“I have told you much, and spoken only truth. Maybe others know how to complete the Key. How to bring it back to life. I have aided you. For the sake of my vengeance and for one who used to give radiance to all the worlds. Now _leave.”_

It held out its hand, and after after a swift look at the others Spike reached out and took the odd nugget. Immediately the cave was plunged into the same impenetrable darkness that had filled it when they first entered, and swearing loudly Spike took the few necessary steps backwards to stand on the precipice once again. Tucking the Key fragment into a pocket (if that really was what it was, he’d like more proof than the word of some creepy Old Timer), he looked down onto the sand far below. Then he took a deep breath and leapt, body pulsing with adrenaline and ready to absorb the impact. It was somewhat terrifying and absolutely fantastic, and the fresh cool air rushing past him was the most wonderful change from the stifling atmosphere of the cave. His landing was abrupt and the sand was no softer than a pavement, but not hitting it face first was definitely of the good.

He turned to look back up at the cave opening and saw Illyria slowly and precisely navigate the slender steps, as unruffled and self-composed as ever. Angel stood on the edge still, obviously carefully weighing the options and then - much to Spike’s delight - chose the fast route also. 

When Angel was by his side, Spike pulled out the grey lump, handing it over. 

“What d’you think? This really what we’re looking for?”

Angel turned it over in his hands. “Illyria seemed convinced. Guess we’ll have to go looking for the other pieces... and more info.”

Spike sighed. “So what - we try the Helldimension Holiday Package?”

Angel shrugged. “Something like. I’m hoping Illyria has an idea where to start looking.”

“Oh this... this is bloody fantastic,” Spike proclaimed, shaking his head. Then with a deep sigh he pulled out his cell phone. It rang a few times before Buffy picked up.

“Hi Love - did I wake you? How’s the big Slayer meet going?” He listened for a while, then tried to cut through her chatter. “Look - you know how we were goin’ to try and have this long distance relationship? Well - the distance just grew...”


	2. Chapter 2

“Sky the colour of blood. Check. Black craggy mountains. Check. Large disgusting pools of fuck-knows-what. Check. Atmosphere of sulphur. Check. Right then - where are the devils with pitch forks?”

Spike turned to Illyria, eyebrow questioningly raised. The place was beyond a joke - it was like some Heavy Metal fan’s trippy fantasy. 

Illyria stared back, uncomprehending. “I do not know of any breed of devil that carries pitch forks. Pitch forks are tools for manual labour, not weapons... your query is illogical and strange.”

Spike opened his mouth and then closed it again, knowing a lost cause when he saw one. 

“I think Spike might have a point,” Angel said, studying the surroundings. _“This_ is the home dimension of W &H? The place they originally came from?”

“Do you doubt me?” Illyria asked, a note of anger creeping into her voice.

“Well...” Angel grimaced, “It’s all just a bit... cartoony?”

Illyria was obviously not familiar with the term. 

Angel tried again. “In our culture, Hell is usually represented looking pretty much exactly as this place. Well except there’s no fire here. But overall - it just seems... weird.”

“That is not my concern,” Illyria replied coldly. She slowly turned around, impassive eyes charting the territory, before choosing a direction and wordlessly walking off. The vampires sighed and followed, trying not to think of how very dependant they were on her... If she left them, they would have no way of getting back home. 

After a while Angel suddenly stopped, frowning. “Actually - what if W&H influenced humankind’s myths? They could have fed people’s fears with tales of this place. What if it isn’t some weird coincidence, but a kinda backwards proof of how much sway they hold over our world?”

Spike blinked, tried to absorb what Angel was saying, and then slowly shook his head.

“You think too much, mate. Don’t matter either way, does it? I’m more worried that that Raven fella was lying through his teeth. What the hell _was_ that thing?”

Angel slowly mulled over the question. “Most primitive cultures have myths surrounding a raven - he’s knows as a trickster, and in most of them he inadvertedly creates the world by stealing the sun and moon...” 

He stopped and turned to Spike. “You’ve never heard of any of this? Did you never get _any_ sort of education?”

“I went to public school _thank-you-very-much!”_ Spike retaliated. “But with Queen Victoria on the throne the superstitions of bleedin’ ‘indigenous’ peoples wasn’t exactly part of the curriculum. Mostly it was ‘this third of the world belongs to _us!_ If the black bastards misbehave we chop their heads off.’ And as for the Irish...”

He shot Angel a challenging look, and Angel silently looked back, trying not to raise to the bait. Then he strode off ahead, jaw set.

Spike chuckled to himself, but as his eyes again met with the landscape his face fell. The ground was dry and cracked, and large rocks and stones were scattered over the plain on which he stood. Something that might be a pale sun hovered not far above the distant mountains. And dark clouds were gathering in the red sky.

_’Just two days ago I was in Buffy’s bed...’_ he thought, and somehow it might as well have been a millennium ago. He’d told her in no uncertain terms that he didn’t want her to join their fight, and yet he couldn’t help but imagine just how wonderful it would be to have her walking beside him, wrinkling her pretty nose at the smell and hefting that gorgeous Scythe, ready to do some violence. 

He sighed. The sulphur would probably kill her and she had work to do herself. He _could_ have gone to join her after he got rid of the ghostliness, but he hadn’t and that was that. Had chosen Angel’s fight instead and here he was, caught up in events and powers far beyond anything he’d ever wanted... who could have foreseen that a simple soul could cause such seismic ripples?

Too lost in thought to notice a vague scraping sound, he didn’t see the big savage brute until it jumped. Sharp yellow teeth snapped millimetres from his face as he automatically swung up his arm to block the attack. Then he brought up his knee, catching the thing solidly in the middle, and as it momentarily folded he pulled a dagger from his boot and slashed its throat. It fell down in a wobbly lump, and brownish, foul-smelling blood oozed out on the ground. Thanking the powers that he didn’t need to breathe, Spike did his best to wipe the dagger’s blade on the creature’s rough, prickly hide - he had a feeling the blood would eat right through his shirt. 

“Spike!” Angel looked out from behind a large boulder. “What the hell are you doing?”

“Tryin’ to stay alive!” he replied and walked around the dead body. “Watch out for surprise attacks.”

Angel nodded silently and they set off again, once more side by side. Illyria walked ahead of them, her course as straight as if she were an arrow.

“Where are we going?” Spike asked after a while, and Angel shrugged. “No idea. I tried to ask a minute ago, but she didn’t answer.”

Spike sighed again, and silence fell. 

As senses slowly grew more accustomed to the place they began to pick up on scents and sounds, and when four skinny demons brandishing crude weapons fell on them some time later they were ready. The grey indistinct shadows slowly lengthened, and they fought off several more attacks - although oddly Illyria was not bothered in this manner. Whatever vibe she sent out, the creatures did not touch her.

It was - as far as they could tell - many hours since they had first arrived and darkness was stealing across the sky. They were now amongst what in a normal landscape would be hills, but here was just large naked rocks jutting up. Here and there little withered bush-like shrubs clung to the rock, and they could hear skittering above their heads - even once or twice caught sight of small monkey-like creatures. 

The sunset was abrupt and the world was now lit up by nothing more than a scant scattering of faint stars, as smudged and indistinct as the the sun. The darkness, changing the reds and murky greeny-browns of the landscape into familiar grey, didn’t bother them, but after having walked for what seemed to be more than the lenght of two nights and no new daytime apparently being near, they decided to find a cave and get some much needed rest. 

Not long after Spike lay with his head on his duster, letting his eyes travel over Angel beside him and then towards Illyria’s immobile form seated at the entrance. Was this what they had to look forward to? 

“You know what’s one of the best things about girlfriends?” he asked, and Angel turned his head, obviously unsure where Spike was going with the question.

“Soft, warm beds,” Spike said, and Angel smiled, then asked: “And the worst thing?”

“Nagging!” Spike promptly replied, and Angel chuckled.

After a moment Spike continued, a little unsure. “About me and Buffy seein’ each other... you’re OK with that, right? Since she actually wants to have a go at some sort of long-term thing...” 

He swallowed, still overwhelmed at having somehow won in life’s lottery, and then caught Angel’s eyes. 

There was a moment, then Angel looked away. “Told you so already,” he replied and Spike nodded a little uncertainly. 

“Course,” he answered, but couldn’t help feeling that things had changed a fair bit since their first conversation a week ago. There was a difference between ‘going on a date’ and ‘dating’ - and he and Buffy had moved from one to the other almost without noticing. 

The main issue now being his and Angel’s... ‘friendship’. Spike didn’t like that word, since it implied a choice to be in each other’s company, which was very far from the reality of their situation. But they got along, maintaining a careful balance. Like tightrope walkers. Only Buffy was bound to upset things...

Problem was of course that they’d dealt with the ‘Buffy issue’ months ago and ‘moved on’. Not very successfully from _her_ \- in Spike’s case at least - but from fighting _over_ her. It was a pattern, Spike realised - bicker, fight, deal, move on. And Buffy had been a closed chapter. But now there was friction where there had been none, and it was bound to be awkward.

Then Angel turned back, a sudden mischievous look in his eyes. “Don’t suppose you told her about the girl in Germany?”

Spike’s nostrils flared. “No... and nothing _happened_ with the girl in Germany.”

“Because I dragged you away!”

Spike scowled. “Wish that black eye I gave you hadn’t faded so quickly... _‘Is your boyfriend always this jealous?’_ Coulda bloody well killed you! First chance I’d had in _months.”_

“We were supposed to keep a low profile, not chat up exchange students and impressing them with tales of our adventures,” Angel’s face still had hints of amusement, but a more serious side shone through.

“I saved her from a demon attack - she was grateful. I’d have been gone before she woke up... _I_ never signed up for the hundred year abstinence.” Spike was feeling petulant, but he couldn’t help it. Not like Illyria was willing to give it up... 

Of course in the last week he’d had a feast he could never have foreseen, so maybe Angel had been onto something after all. Deciding that there was no point in dwelling on things he could do nothing about he closed his eyes, calling forth the image of Buffy. Soon he was drifting off, caught in happy memories.

It was a few hours later when Angel suddenly sat bolt upright, crying out as he hit his head on the low sloping roof of the cave.

Spike blinked and rose up on his elbow. “What now?” he asked, and Angel winced in pain and then frowned.

“I-I’m not sure. There was a bright light... and my head hurts...” his voice trailed off, and Spike yawned. “Don’t go into the light mate, no good ever comes of it. Also I don’t feel like waking up next to a small pile of dust. We’ll find a bigger cave next time.”

Angel shook his head. “No - it was...” He rubbed his head, uncertain.

“...a bad dream. Try burning to death and dealing with the nightmares that come from _that!”_ Spike finished. “Go back to sleep.” He lay back down and tried without much success to be comfortable on the hard ground. “ _I_ was dreaming of...” he chuckled and didn’t finish the sentence. “Why don’t you try counting werewolves jumping over a fence?”

Angel nodded slowly, and with a puzzled look laid back down.

***

It was the next evening when Spike went hunting. They were still amongst the hills, the distant mountains having neared a little after two days’ march, and as he heard the now familiar skittering above them he turned to Angel. “I’m hungry. Hold my coat - I’m gonna go get us somethin’ to eat.”

He let his gameface come forth, scanning the air for scents, but Angel hadn’t moved. He was looking at Spike with an odd look on his face, then shook his head. “Spike - we’re not animals.”

Spike stared at him for a long minute, then closed his eyes and shook his head. “I am _not_ having this discussion with you again. Not now, not _ever_ , OK? Just hold the bloody coat!”

Thrusting it into Angel’s hands he then leapt up onto a ledge, before silently creeping further up the jagged rock. Darkness had now fallen everywhere, and with senses keen and alert he stalked towards the place where he could sense a whole colony of the little critters. It was exhilarating - primitive instincts welling up as he moved forwards as careful and precise as a cat. 

The animals were gathered together on one of the topmost points, chattering quietly as they moved around, their wide eyes faintly reflecting the light from the dim stars. Spike smiled. In a flash he was by the edge of one of the wide ledges, plucked off an unsuspecting victim before it had time to call out, and as he moved away again with the same unnatural speed his fangs were already in the creature’s neck. He couldn’t care less about _what_ he was - all he knew was that he was friggin’ _built_ for this. The blood wasn’t anything to write home about, being somewhat inferior to pig, but the feel of hot blood gushing into his mouth straight from the vein, heart still pumping, was pure bliss. 

Having swiftly drained the little body, he thought that he’d nab a few more for himself and then make a nice collection for Angel. The easiest thing would be to wring their necks of course, but there was nothing like a live kill - and he knew Angel felt the same even if he’d never admit it... maybe he could knock them out? He tried to study the dead carcass in his hand and figured that a quick blow to the head ought to stun it for a while. The skull was fairly thick. 

Making his way back to the group, as silent as a small detached piece of darkness, he began thinking that this hell dimension travelling could have its upsides. 

Not long after he was climbing back down to Angel, full and content and with a trio of unconscious creatures in his hand, and he began wondering why he’d so automatically relied on butcher’s blood all these years. 

Angel was waiting - with that look on his face that said that the argument hadn’t gone away - but it swiftly gave way to barely concealed hunger.

Spike held out his catch and said, putting as much emphasis on the words as he could: “We are _demons_. End of story.”

Angel stared at him for the longest time, and Spike couldn’t guess at what thoughts went through his head. But he was obviously not going to share, as he with a curt ‘thanks’ plucked the dinner from Spike’s hand and walked off to eat in private.

***

Oddly - or maybe not so oddly - eating 'the fruits of the land' made the place feel more real. As Spike went off on his third hunting expedition on the eve of the fifth day, he realised that he had begun to adjust to the environment in earnest. The eery silence didn't feel oppressive anymore, as his ears were now perfectly attuned to the minute sounds that meant the difference between being prey or predator. The rocks had their own unique faintly shiny texture that he’d never seen elsewhere, with tiny mosses and grasses clinging to any crack or fissure. Apart from the small monkey creatures and the randomly attacking demons, they'd also glimpsed larger beasts, thickly coated and many-horned, in the distance. It was a whole world unto itself, vast and mostly empty, with many-layered scents underneath the sulphur, and the remnants of an ecosystem existing without a care for the plans of evil things.

He stopped for a moment on an apex with a clear view over the plains ahead, and thought to himself that the place wasn't all that bad, truth be told. Ugly as sin of course, and he was missing TV and Scotch already; but they’d just been through a hot, claustrophobic summer, moving from place to place via the less savoury parts of Europe, always looking over their shoulder and sleeping with one eye open, never trusting anyone - and the quiet of this place was surprisingly soothing. Kill or be killed was a far simpler way of life than the webs W&H tried to spin. 

Then he raised his eyes and looked towards the mountains in the distance... a distance that narrowed day by day. He could begin to discern towers and structures clinging to the sides, ugly and dark, and he sighed. There was trouble up there, and Illyria was making a beeline for it... He was beginning to feel increasingly like Frodo and Sam walking towards Mordor, which was not a comforting thought.

***

It was hard to make out how much time passed. The nights seemed longer and the days shorter than on earth, but by how much they couldn't tell. After more than 14 days of travel they finally came to the feet of the mountains, but judging by the distance they had covered it was more like 4 weeks of ordinary time.

Angel looked upwards, taking in the steep and jagged sides towering above them and shook his head. "We gonna climb that? Should have brought rope and special boots... I'm not sure it can be done."

Illyria tilted her head. "We will not climb the mountains - the fortress is on the inside."

Spike stared at her, eyes widening. "We're going _inside?_ Well fuck _that_!"


	3. Chapter 3

Spike had a point, Angel thought. This was happening with increasing frequency, and that in itself might be something to worry about. Listening to the argument between the other two he found himself agreeing with most of what Spike said. Except of course it wasn’t that simple. He sighed.

“Spike - we’re going inside. If you want to sit on a rock out here and wait for us then that’s your choice. Illyria - do you know where there is a door?”

Seeing Spike’s glare, he continued. “I’d like some backup too - and the architect’s plans. But since neither exists we have to go with what we’ve got!”

He held Spike’s eyes, and saw the other reluctantly give in. Although as usual he had to say something:

“Whatever - I just think it’s as dumb as painting a target on your chest and jumping into a whole group of Slayers yelling: ‘I’m going to kill you!’”

“Yeah, but we don’t have a choice, do we?” He turned back to Illyria. “Door?”

She looked back as though he were a moron. “Can you not see it?”

“See what?”

He almost expected her to roll her eyes as she sighed. “The mountain is enchanted... The magic must be deceiving your eyes. Do you not see any of the dark signs?”

They both shook their heads, and Illyria - muttering something about the curse of lesser beings - walked over to the mountainside, slowly pressing the palms of both hands against the cold stone. Then she closed her eyes and stood still for so long that they thought she might have fallen asleep - except she didn’t really ‘do’ sleep... 

Suddenly her eyes snapped open and she pulled away. The surface of the mountain appeared to shiver and bend, before a wavelike effect sprang forth from where her hands had rested and the vampires gasped.

In front of them was a large, ancient stone door, carved out of the rock-face with great skill, and covered in symbols that had once been inlaid with some dark material, judging by the faint traces in the corners. Above the door was a strange mark, obviously magical since it looked shiny and new, despite its great age. 

“What’s _that_?” Spike asked, eyeing it warily. 

“It was the first symbol of the Wolf, Ram and Hart,” Illyria replied. “It is a warning and an armour - set up when they were still trying to conquer this one world. How small they were...”

Angel frowned. “A warning - what does that mean? Any idea of what’s inside?”

Illyria shrugged, and wrestled the doors open. “This world is abandoned - I have seen nothing but ghosts and vermin so far. If there is still power and secrets left they will be here.”

And she strode into the darkness.

***

There was a lot of darkness. Endless corridors, chambers big and small, and sometimes large halls. All empty.

The air hung dead and still everywhere, the only scent the cold stone. Ears finely tuned to the minutest sound strained vainly - but there was nothing at all. Not even a drip of water or the skitter of a tiny bug... 

Angel tried hard not to shudder. The place felt like a tomb, sealed up and left forever... except so far they had not seen anything except dust. But the covering spell had been strong - and W&H never wasted magic. There had to be something in here besides dust - something dangerous or valuable... something _powerful._

They’d come to this world, hoping that the original home of W&H could yield some information about what had happened to them - and maybe even find a piece of the Dead Key... It was a long shot, only no one alive now would know of this world, so it would be an ideal hiding place. But as they walked deeper and deeper into the heart of the mountain a conversation echoed in his head:

_“Permanent storage. If there's anything Wolfram & Hart excels at, it's keeping their unmentionables unmentioned.”_

What was in here? Something they wanted keeping safe? Or something they wanted keeping safe _from_? And whatever it was, it was likely to be guarded by more than a spell... 

The black upon black didn’t help. He had to use all his senses to keep track of the other two and make sure he didn’t walk into any walls. Vampire senses only helped so far, and having to focus so hard just on seeing where he was going was exhausting. Angel knew he was utterly lost, but Illyria claimed to remember every turn they’d taken and he sincerely hoped she was right.

“So - were you ever in here before?” Angel asked after they’d scaled a staircase that seemed to go on forever.

“This place was far too small to hold my splendour,” Illyria replied, disdainfully. “I came here once, when this world was still teeming with life - creatures and growing things of all kinds vying for supremacy. It amused me to see how these trivial beings thought they could fill a mountain with power and rule a world thus.”

She looked around at the dusty desolation, face like flint. 

“I should have killed them then.”

“Would have made our lives a lot easier I’ve got to say,” Spike chipped in as he kicked up the dirt. “This place gives me the creep.! We sure there’s not a vengeful mummy or a cursed treasure tucked away somewhere?”

“We’re not sure of anything,” Angel said, secretly relieved that Spike had come to the same conclusion as he. “Illyria - should we try the basement?”

Whenever W&H had moved out no one had obviously bothered to take the prisoners with. There were row upon row upon row of cells and torture chambers, bones scattered everywhere - some so fantastical that Angel began to wonder in earnest what this world had been like in its heyday... 

Unlike Spike - who had as always been swift to accept the new surroundings - he himself kept being haunted by the thought that this was how Connor had grown up - except worse of course. Far worse. There were days when he still hated Wesley with such intensity that it frightened him. He could forgive - _had_ forgiven Wesley long ago - but he couldn’t forget. And yet... had Wesley been wrong? Should Angel have told him, after he regained his memories, how in the end he had cut his son’s throat? 

Suddenly Illyria lifted her face, like a police dog catching a scent. Smiling she set off down a narrow, unassuming tunnel and the vampires followed. It appeared to go on forever and kept going down. They had to be deep, deep underground by now and it was as though the weight of the mountain above them was slowly coming to rest on Angel’s shoulders. This darkness and quiet was strangely reminiscent of his prison at the bottom of the ocean... and The Deeper Well. This was a place of death, fallen off the edge of time, and the coldness and oppressive silence was seeping into him. He fervently wished that someone would speak, and yet he couldn’t seem to make a sound.

He suddenly remembered the Eve-induced nightmare, the hollow emptiness, the terror of - _this_. This endless darkness. This feeling. He could still clearly picture his friends’ anger; hear Lorne’s words echo in his head:

_“Now you're gettin' it. Everything hurts, and then we die. Or in your case, everything hurts and... then you go on... and on... and on... and on.”_

He ran a hand across his face, trying to rub away the feeling of hopelessness. No good ever came of it. Focus on the goal, focus on the reason for fighting... 

And although it felt as though much of that dream had become real, the differences were what he could hold onto. He’d lost his friends and the shanshu, and Buffy had chosen Spike... _but..._

His friends hadn’t betrayed him or left him behind, and Spike had not stolen the shanshu - that had been Angel’s own sacrifice. And the fight was still his, even if he’d handed the prophecy to Spike. 

He wasn’t sure if he felt guilty or robbed over giving Spike his destiny. He’d been so used to carrying the responsibility and hope that he still felt adrift. They hadn’t spoken of the issue since Angel had told Spike about how he’d signed the thing away - what Spike’s thoughts were he couldn’t guess... or maybe he could. Mostly he tried not to dwell on it, since it invariably made him feel feel even more depressed than usual... There was a tiny voice somewhere deep, deep inside that said that it wasn’t fair that Spike got all the breaks and he got - this. And whenever he _did_ get a break - a tiny glimpse of what lay beyond - it was snatched away. 

Why did the price for freedom have to be so steep?

And then all of a sudden, interrupting Angel’s glum thoughts, there was in front of them a large door, made out of what appeared to be reinforced stainless steel. Above was the same symbol they had seen outside.

“So...” Spike said, and although Angel would never have admitted it, it was good to hear his voice. “What d’you reckon is behind Door Number 1? Zombie army? Another dragon?”

Angel reached out and found that the handle moved smoothly. Sword hefted in one hand he quickly pushed open the door - and blinked against the sudden bright light and the sight that greeted him.

“On the whole a dragon might have been preferable...” he said grimly.


	4. Chapter 4

“Oh come now Boss - you don’t mean that!” 

The immaculately dressed woman sitting cross-legged on the desk smiled at him widely.

 _“Lilah...”_ he said, eyes narrowing. “What are you doing here? Was there a backlog in the torture chamber?”

She chuckled. “No, Stupid. This-” she spread her arms wide, “-is my little slice of afterlife. Look - they even gave me a desk after I talked you into working for us.”

Angel looked at her in silence for a moment and then let his eyes travel around the room. It was rough, carved out of the rock like all the others. The floor was covered in dirt and illumination came from a single, undoubtedly enchanted, naked light bulb suspended from the ceiling. The only other thing in the room was the large, expensive-looking desk. 

He slowly nodded. “They’re good. Sometimes I forget just _how_ good... But I’ve got to hand it to them - this is inspired.” 

Catching her eyes he asked, “I don’t suppose you can leave?”

Her smile was slightly forced this time. “Well... the door has no handle on the inside.” 

“Of course.” He smiled back at her, beginning to see exactly how to play this. 

“Lilah...” Spike said, thinking, eyes narrowing. “ _That’s_ it - you were Wesley’s bird!” 

His eyes travelled appreciatively from her head to her toes and back up again, raising an eyebrow. “Gotta say the guy had taste.”

Taking in the promise in the blue eyes and the soft lips, the confident stance and the rough, rugged look that came from weeks of living outdoors, she smiled back. “You must be Spike...” 

Then she turned back to Angel, lifting an eyebrow. “Hey - you couldn’t have locked me in a cellar with _him?”_

Spike smiled widely, charm turned up to 110 percent. “Like what you see, eh? Sorry pet, but I’m spoken for.”

He shot Angel a swift look, letting him know that he was ready to go with whatever Angel thought best, but Lilah’s eyes darted from one to the other, mouth falling slightly open, then catching herself.

 _“Really?_ I knew Angel had a thing for blondes, but...”

Angel smirked. Slowly he walked up to the desk until he was face to face with her; then leaned in, mouth almost brushing her ear. 

“Oh wouldn’t you just _love_ to know?” he purred, voice low and seductive. She looked at him sharply, but he moved away and smiled back, face unreadable. 

“You waste time!” Illyria complained, and Lilah stared at her. 

“Um... _Fred?_ Did you just have a really bad hair day or...”

Angel tried very hard not to grind his teeth. Trust Her Impatient Highness to trample all over his game... Even Spike was able to judge a situation without difficulty (and unfailingly backed him up when called for, which was something he was still adjusting to, but it sure made life easier), but Illyria... 

He looked back at Lilah. “Fred is dead. This is Illyria, an Elder God from before the time of men...” He sighed. “Long story.” 

Lilah blinked, but he ignored her. 

“Illyria - can you be patient for just a little while? Lilah is a _lawyer_ and she’s _dead_ \- facts I’m sure you remember. If I thought I could get any answers out of her by torture, she’d be in several different pieces already. We’ll need to... _negotiate.”_

Illyria stared back coldly for a moment, then shrugged and began to inspect the walls.

Angel turned back to Lilah.

“Now... negotiation... Simply put, we all want something, Lilah. It's the way of the world. Everybody's got an agenda. Even you.”

“I really don’t Angel - I’m not _in_ the world anymore, am I? There’s nothing you can offer me.” She smiled back, as smooth and confident as ever.

“So... you’re happy here? Spending eternity in a tiny box? Because let me tell you something - there’s nothing out there. This world is used up, dead and forgotten. You won’t even have pleasure of being ripped to shreds because the only demons outside are too _dumb_ to use a door handle. Wouldn’t you like... I dunno? A chair? Some chocolate? _Peace?”_

“Aw Angel, that’s so _sweet!”_ She clasped her hands together and pressed them to her chest, and if she could have faked a tear he was sure she would have. Then she shook her head lightly, a touch of a smile on her lips. 

“But sorry, Wesley already tried that one, bless him. Didn’t work.”

Angel didn’t smile back. “I’m not a gallant ex-lover Lilah, nor an unyielding Champion fighting for people’s souls... or have you forgotten? I’m a man who knows the value of compromise and how to beat the system from inside the belly of the beast.” 

He fixed her with a cold stare. “I took the job. As a result all my friends are now dead and I have the blood of heroes on my hands. I couldn’t give a crap about your fate, but I’m guessing we’ve each got something the other wants.”

“Now now, no need to be so blatant,” she replied, shooting him a coy look from under her eyelashes.

He gave in and chuckled as he shook his head. “Oh Lilah - I never thought it was possible, but I think I’ve actually missed this. If only they’d sent Lindsey here as well it’d have been a proper reunion.”

She looked at him sharply. “Lindsey’s dead?”

Angel’s smile turned frosty. “Ah yes, he came back like a bad penny, full of crazy schemes. Gave me a real headache, even though he came in useful.” 

He shrugged, made a face. “I had him killed in the end - too big a liability.”

He could see how his statement affected her far more than any of his previous ones - for the first time she seemed to really take on board just how much he’d changed. She knew that he could be ruthless, knew the lengths he’d go to when he had a personal vendetta. But seeing in him the W&H quality par excellence - the ability to cooly and impersonally use and then discard people with a view only to own advancement - _that_ made an impression. 

Studying her, he kept the smile in place - that perfect, ‘friendly’ W&H smile that they both excelled at.

“But - lets talk about you Lilah. What exactly are you guarding?”

“Is that supposed to mean something?” 

She could still keep her composure, he had to give her that.

“Stop the games. They’re fun, but take too long. You were one of their top people, head of a department, on the fast track. They didn’t just put you here for punishment, they put you here on the off chance that someone like me ever dropped in, so you could stop them getting at whatever W&H are hiding in this place. And as I said, I’m willing to trade. Because I? Can offer you the most valuable thing in the world - something stronger even than loyalty.”

“And what would that be, Mr Speech giver?” She was curious now he could tell, in spite of herself. 

“Hope.”

She turned that over in her head. “Hope... hope... Hmmm...” 

Then with apparent sudden illumination she looked back at him. “Oh yes - I remember that one. Sadly for you that one is filed away beside ‘love’ and ‘peace’. But nice try!”

Condescending didn’t even begin to describe the expression on her face, and Angel decided to just let the thought and the subsequent curiosity brew for a moment before he showed his hand. 

“I’ll explain more later - right now I’m wondering what exactly you’ve got hidden and if it’s worth the price. And _where...”_

He looked around the room again, saw Spike leaning against the wall, observing and a little bored, but keeping quiet. Illyria had stopped walking and was now studying a bit of black wall intently, and if he hadn’t known better he’d have thought she was trying to kiss it. 

“Here!” she said, and he could sense the momentary - but quickly calmed - panic in the dead woman beside him. 

“Well then Lilah, going to show your boss what you’ve got in there?”

Her smile was forced this time. 

“If you’re here, trying to barter with me, that means you’re not the boss anymore - doesn’t it?”

Well at least she wasn’t still trying to deny that she was guarding something. He wondered if Illyria would be able to open the safe and how long it would take... But thinking about it he realised that he wanted to win this battle with Lilah himself - if for no other reason than to prove that he could. That he could beat the Senior Partners at their own game. 

“Thank you Illyria,” he said. “Let me handle it from here on - please?”

Illyria turned her head, her eyes moving from him to Lilah and back again, unreadable. Then to his immense relief she inclined her head and stepped back. Maybe she remembered their dealings with Giles? Who knew. She never let on by what bizarre thought processes she operated.

Then he stepped in front of Lilah and slowly studied her face. “The thing is - I know you. They might think you’re loyal, because you always tried to be the best. Always followed the rules. C’mon - the only reason you were there was because they offered you the best deal. I can offer you something better - and you know what? You’re going to take it, because when it comes down to it - you’re always looking out for Number 1.”

There was a long moment’s silence, then her eyes narrowed and he could see that for the first time she let the mask down, if only a fraction. 

“What did you mean ‘hope’?”

He didn’t move a muscle. But he could feel a smile spreading inside, a separate thing altogether like a Cheshire Cat’s. _He had her._ Spike might enjoy primitive killing out in the wild - but this... oh this was _his_ sort of hunt. The slow luring of the prey until it was inside his trap without knowing it. Killing didn’t even enter into it - it was all about the capture. 

Keeping his voice perfectly neutral and even, he replied:

“We’re trying to undo the power of W&H. If we succeed I’m expecting a _lot_ of contracts will go off to Never Never Land, no longer worth the blood they were signed in. Don’t know what exactly that’d mean for _you_ , but I’m figuring it’d be better than this.”

“Undo their power? _Riiiight_ , that’s going to work!” 

If it was possible to pour more scorn into a voice Angel wasn’t sure how it could be done. Didn’t matter - victory was just a question of time now, so he readily elaborated.

“There’s a key, made for that purpose, but W&H broke it. We’re looking for the pieces - and we’re figuring you might have one. Spike?”

“Catch!”

Angel turned and automatically picked the grey lump out of the air, but nevertheless sent Spike an intense scowl. Spike of course only grinned back, utterly unconcerned.

Lilah wrinkled her nose. “That is _not_ helping.” 

“Well if you have another piece, that should prove me right.”

She was thinking now, hard. Seeing was believing, and she’d seen plenty to know that he wasn’t bluffing. Then she asked: “So why are you doing it - still hoping for that shanshu?”

He shook his head dismissively. “Signed it away. Spike is the Destiny Boy now. Me? I’m a free Agent. And since you asked - I’m mostly in it for the vengeance.”

He saw how everything clicked into place then. Because Lilah was smart and knew what he was capable of - and what he was ready to sacrifice. 

She jumped off the desk with almost a spring in her step, laid her hand on the wall where Illyria was standing, and, focussing hard, recited something long and complex that made Illyria look almost impressed.

With the softest ‘whoosh’ a perfect square of wall evaporated, and Angel could sense Spike at his elbow peering in. There was a low, soft whistle. “What’s that golden thing? Looks _very_ pretty...”

“No!” Angel said, and, ignoring all the shiny objects, the ancient talismans and the feather-light parchments, reached for the small knobbly nugget at the back. Bringing it out he looked at the two pieces, one in each hand, and frowned.

Illyria, gritting her teeth and looking almost green, plucked them out of his hands and held them against each other. And without sound or movement the two pieces were suddenly one.

“Bugger me!” Spike said, impressed. “Maybe old Mr Feathers was right after all...”

Angel looked up at Lilah, and she swallowed. He could see that she had indeed found what he’d promised - the knowledge that maybe one day things would change...

Spike shoved the Key back in his pocket and Illyria drifted over to the door; but Lilah bit her lip, then slowly looked up at Angel.

“What - what happened to Wesley?”

“He was killed by Cyvus Vail.”

He saw the name sink in, knew that she had to have been the one to handle the negotiations. Ah, the inevitable justice of life - the way every _single_ thing would always come back and bite you on the ass, just when you thought there was nothing left. 

She nodded slowly, and he continued - wanting to let her know that Wesley had done good. “He died in Illyria’s arms... They had a thing. Well - he and _Fred_ had a thing, but Illyria sort of became attached to him too.”

Lilah looked up in surprise and Illyria met her eyes. “Wesley died an honourable death and my retribution was swift. The bones of Vail now adorn Wesley’s grave.” 

After a moment of trying to work all this out, Lilah smiled. 

“I like you. Thank you...” she waved a hand in Illyria’s general direction, “...your God-what-ever-ness!”

Illyria briefly inclined her head, then turned on her heel and left the room. Spike, standing by the door and obviously itching to leave, did a little wave. 

“Um - nice meetin’ you and all. Enjoy your desk! I’d help you with that if I could, trust me.”

He winked, and then slipped out.

Slowly Angel walked away, but turned at the door. Lilah was standing silently by the wall, looking oddly helpless and - although she was hiding it well - he knew that the endless loneliness that lay ahead terrified her. He could easily stay longer - tell her about everything that had happened - but she wasn’t going to ask and he wasn’t going to offer. Either scenario would be based on only one thing - pity. And he knew her well enough to understand that it was something she’d never accept. 

But he could still offer her a sincere goodbye, with the respect she needed.

In the swiftest of moments he was by her side and she almost jumped. Odd how humans - even the dead ones - _never_ got used to vampire speed. 

She was studying him uncertainly, but with utmost gentleness he took hold of her hand and softly kissed it.

“Goodbye Miss Morgan. May we never meet again.”

He sent her a melancholy smile, and she suddenly looked as though she was going to burst into tears. 

When he was at the door again he sent her one last look. A single lonely figure in an empty room; empty mountain; empty world. Damn that soul, because he actually felt sorry for her.

“Goodbye Angel,” she said quietly, “and good luck.”

“Thank you,” he replied, and closed the door.


	5. Chapter 5

There was a neat list inside Buffy’s head. Except she kept adding extra points in spite of herself.

1\. Call Johnson and work out the week’s training and patrolling schedule.  
_2\. Not think about Spike._  
3\. Talk to Dawn about that Antonio. And those super-short skirts.  
_4\. Not worry about where Spike is._  
5\. Keep working on the new Slayer program.  
_6\. Not look at all her new photos of Spike yet again._  
7\. Tackle the washing up.

When she’d got that far she sighed and leaned back in the sofa, her feet resting on the low table in front of her. She liked her sofa table - she should have bought it much sooner, those stupid block things that came with the flat were useless for anything more than a cup of coffee - and it had come in very handy the week before last... She smiled to herself and decided that it was utterly pointless to pretend that she wasn’t going to mostly think about Spike - like she did every other day. And she couldn’t even call him...

Dragging her hands through her hair she wondered at how her world had yet again been turned upside down. Two - no two and a half weeks ago everything had been going more smoothly than she could ever remember. Patrolling, training with the new slayers, spending time with Dawn and trying to stay in contact with her friends. And there had also of course been The Perfect Boyfriend, who had, emotionally, been as uncomplicated to date as a low fat yogurt. A really hot, charming, rich and endlessly reliable yogurt... 

And then Spike had crashed back into her life, turning it upside down and inside out. As usual. With his cheekbones and eyes and lips and chest and coat and kisses that just melted her into goo... And love - a love she’d thought buried forever at the bottom of the hellmouth. All that love burning for her, setting her on fire...

_Cool pale hands with black chipped nail polish - like a physical sign of the darkness dwelling underneath the beautiful exterior - slowly caressing her burning hot skin... soft, soft lips pressing kisses into her neck, as reverent as though she were holy... arms holding her so tightly that they almost bruised - like they were never going to let go..._

And that’s how it should have continued - he should have stayed, and they could have settled down or... something. But no - he had his own life now, complete with world saveage - _interdimensional_ world saveage no less - and it’d probably be weeks, if not months, before she saw him again.

Playing with the pendant around her neck she cursed prophecies and evil law firms - couldn’t she just _once_ have a simple relationship? 

And then there’d been the big Slayer gathering in London.... In the past year-and-a-bit the remnants of The Council had been busy collecting new Slayers, banding them together in small groups, teaching and training them, and now they needed to think bigger - ‘phase 2’ as Andrew grandiously called it. If they could work out how to do this right, they could be truly global with instant response teams and cell groups spread all over. But they were woefully short of Watchers, and they also had to try to make sure that they didn’t end up branded as terrorists or something. 

So far Buffy had considered the whole thing a headache - she’d been so exhausted after Sunnydale that she’d pretty much buried herself in her quiet little life in Rome. But now suddenly she realised that she really cared about things - she _wanted_ to be involved. Partly she thought it was that she still felt that the Slayers were _hers_ \- since activating them had after all been her idea - but meeting Spike had done more than just make her finally fall head over heels in love. His commitment to his cause, and Angel’s vision, made her want to be back in charge of her own destiny. 

Then there was a knock at the door, and she frowned as she got up. Unless the Chinese Take Away had worked out how to do mind reading (and she wouldn’t put it past them, she was sure than some of the employees were demons) she really didn’t know who it could be. Dawn wasn’t due back for at least an hour - presuming of course that she kept to her curfew.

She opened the door and it felt like the weirdest case of deja-vu. She stared at a dirty, filthy Spike, his hair in a mess of brown curls, standing in her doorway, and it felt like all the air in her lungs had decided to take a sudden vacation. 

After a moment of speechless surprise, she said the first thing that came into her head: “Did you go crazy again?”

He laughed and shook his head - and it was a proper chuckle, not that horrible unsettling giggle she still remembered - and then she saw Angel behind him, in pretty much the same state.

“Sorry about the great unwashed invasion, pet, but Illyria dumped us here and vanished. Can we come in?” 

Wordlessly she moved aside, but as they walked towards the sofa she called out sharply.

“No! Not the sofa - just... I’ll get chairs.”

Spike shot Angel a look, and drolly asked, “You know what’s one of the worst things about girlfriends?”

Angel chuckled, and Buffy shook her head as she put down the chairs, thanking the powers that they were made of plastic. It felt so utterly bizarre to have them just drop in, like it was somehow normal for them to just be alive and come see her. Like they weren’t a miracle.

“Sorry - private joke,” Spike said, slowly sinking into the seat. 

Ignoring the joke she focussed on the reason. “It was really expensive,” she said, “Like - really, _really_ expensive. I got a discount of course, because...” she stopped herself, because mentioning The Immortal invariably made them _way_ grouchy. “I’d never be able to afford to replace it.”

Then looking them over she tilted her head, frowning. “Sorry - but what happened to your hair? Did you try miracle-gro?”

“No...” Spike said, shaking his head with a surprised look on his face, and Angel frowned. “How long has it been since we left?”

“Bout a week and a half... I’ve only been back from London for three days.”

Angel slowly nodded to himself. “Of course - time goes differently. For us it was... oh... a month? More maybe? The days were a lot longer...” 

“Where were you? You said you were going to a different dimension...” She studied them more carefully. They looked fine, but she really didn’t know much about different dimensions. Except that there was one without shrimp.

Spike stretched his legs, yawning. “Oh yeah, went to to W&H’s home dimension. Pretty much your standard hell place - red sky and black mountains and all that crap.”

“Oh my god!” She swallowed, wondering what had happened and swiftly went to him. Bending over she tried to look underneath the grime. “You’re not hurt and bleeding to death but being stupid and manly?” She shot Angel a searching look as well, but Spike shook his head, amused. 

Feeling mostly reassured, she still couldn’t help asking. “But - what was it like? Was it _too_ awful?”

“Awful?” He looked surprised. “Nah, it was... well _nice_ might not be the right word, but - it was OK. No creature comforts, but quiet. Good place to unwind. Well except for the mountain of course, but before that - yeah, it was OK.”

 _“OK?”_ She was staring at him, feeling her jaw drop, but she couldn’t help it. “You thought _hell_ was a good place to unwind?” 

Incredulous she turned to Angel, who shrugged noncommittally. “It was mostly dead. Some feral demons, but... hell’s only bad when you’re the one being tortured.”

There came an odd look over his face and he looked away, and she realised that she’d absentmindedly started playing with Spike’s hair.

This was no good. As a matter of fact it was very, very bad. What with the underlying awkwardness and the really disgusting hair (that she absolutely didn’t like, nope) she needed to do something.

“Look - Spike - you smell pretty rank. Would you like to go have a shower - I’ll bring you clean clothes, OK?” 

To her great relief he didn’t protest at all, just nodded before yawning again and then making his way to the bathroom. With a swift glance at Angel she ran off, fetched the jeans and T-shirt she’d bought the week before last and handed them over along with the biggest towel she could find. After a kiss that was supposed to be quick, but ended up long and deep and smouldering, she - after a brief pause to make sure her heart had settled down and she didn’t look too blushing - heard the shower turn on and then she retreated to the sitting room once more.

Angel was still where she’d left him. Some things never changed... except of course that he had. More than she could really grasp.

Sitting herself in the sofa opposite she fixed him with a determined look. Time for getting things out into the open... Which they hadn’t tried since - since she couldn’t remember. The break-up? OK, there had been some talking before the apocalypse, but...

“OK Mr Avoidy, we’re going to have a talk!”

“Avoidy? I’m not avoidy.” He looked a little peeved and she smiled.

“Yes you are. This me-dating-Spike thing is obviously bothering you, but you’ve not said a word, just given us _looks.”_

“I talked to Spike back when we first met you again,” he said, defensively. “It’s OK, really...” 

She eyed him sceptically and he suddenly lowered his eyes, studying his hands. There was a moment of silence and when he spoke again his voice was quiet and toneless. 

“And I know now that’d you’d never choose me. Not anymore.”

She heard the underlying pain in his voice and reached out and took hold of his hand. She had always loved his hands - so strong and gentle... she’d been sure that as long as they were holding her nothing could go wrong. And she sighed a deep inwardly sigh, for all the things that could never be and for a past where she had seen life through such simple eyes. 

“Angel...” 

He caught her eyes, shook his head. “I saw the way you looked at me back when... I don’t think you could ever accept who I am now. What I do.”

“You kill people...” she said quietly, remembering the scene far too clearly still. 

“That and worse,” he replied. “You don’t know the half-” he stopped and swallowed. “Sometimes it feels like all I do is bring misery and death to all around me - everyone who I’ve ever cared about, my friends... they’d all have been far better off not meeting me. I’m free, but - the price was high.”

She didn’t know what to say, and had a feeling that really there was nothing she _could_ say. 

Then he smiled a little, reached out and softly stroked her cheek. “So the fact that you’re still alive is good. OK, I admit it’s not easy seeing you with someone else, but you and Spike obviously have something special...” She lost his eyes again as he looked away, the last sentence clearly having cost him a fair bit. But after a moment he added. “Of course he doesn’t deserve you, but at least he’s smart enough to know it.”

She smiled, surprised and grateful, and he continued. “I guess I just... I just want to know that he makes you happy.”

She could feel herself blush, and couldn’t help a big goofy grin spreading across her face. “Yes. Very. _Very_ very. It’s like... like some sort of miracle. I keep thinking it’s a dream and that I’m going to wake up.”

”Because he died?” Angel asked, and she shook her head. “That too, but mostly we just screwed things up so badly. We weren’t just dysfunctional, we were like... _anti_ -functional. You have _no_ idea... Sometimes... sometimes I understand why he never called. Working things out is a scary thing.”

She took a deep breath, saw the questions in his eyes. “Still - I don’t know if I’d still be alive if it wasn’t for him.” She smiled wryly. “Spike and I are just really, really complicated. But I think we can make it work. And... thank you for not being a jerk.” 

Angel nodded. “Thanks for telling me.” Then a small smile stole across his face. “And anyway, I have a girlfriend.”

Buffy jumped at this information. “Nina, right? What’s she like?”

“Um... she’s lovely,” he said, slightly taken aback. Seeing the look on her face, he pulled out his wallet. “I have some pictures.”

“Pictures are definitely of the good,” Buffy agreed, greedily reaching out. 

The photos showed a very attractive young woman on a beach somewhere, in a pretty flowery dress, laughing and smiling. The bright colours of a spectacular sunset were spread across the sky and Buffy felt her chest momentarily constrict as she abruptly recalled a dream she had thought long forgotten. She would never be able to walk along a beach with Angel’s arms around her... And she felt a sudden and rather forceful resentment against this girl who got to live out hers - Buffy’s - fantasies. Which was of course childish and pointless, but she couldn’t help herself. 

“She’s an art student, right?” she asked, telling the stupid memories to go away, and Angel nodded. “She was working on a portrait when these pictures were taken, but she wouldn’t let me see it.”

The happy smile on his face made Buffy feel distinctly odd, because Angel looking happy was just... weird. And of course there was still the big question. “Do you...” she bit her lip, and Angel looked up, easily reading her mind. “What? Sleep with her?” 

Buffy nodded, although seeing the expression on Angel’s face was all the confirmation she needed. She held up her hands. “OK - got it.” 

The smile was still on his face however and she felt like a complete idiot. Maybe being avoidy was a good thing... 

_Future note to self: Never ever ask Angel about his sex life! Also - change of subject needed, stat._

“So... she’s a werewolf, huh?” 

“Yes,” he said, and then as he was about to continue stopped. “That reminds me - could you get hold of Willow for me? I need to ask her a favour.”

***

When Spike rejoined them a while later, Angel was busy laying out his plans for a big concealing spell of some sort for the Hyperion - partly because Nina used the cage in the basement and partly because he thought it might be a nice base for them in between the dimension hopping.

“Much better!” Buffy said, taking in the shiny clean vampire in front of her. And the hair was kinda cute when not dirty she had to admit. Turning she asked, “Angel - would you like to borrow the shower as well?”

He shook his head. “For a start I don’t have spare clothes here...”

Oh. 

Spike shot him a look, but Buffy reached out, pulling him down on the sofa beside her. “It’s OK - Angel and I had a little talk. He’s... OK.”

Spike looked from her to Angel and back again, pondering. “Well that’s good.”

She nodded enthusiastically, willing them all to make this work. ‘Cause they could, right? They were all grown up and mature and she could be perfectly comfortable playing hostess to her current and her ex... 

The word ‘hostess’ decided to come back for another spin through her head, and she belatedly realised that she’d not offered them anything to eat. A swift question confirmed that they were indeed hungry, and since she still had blood left in the fridge - there was no denying it, she was a terrible housekeeper - she went off to heat it up.

She came back a little later with two mugs, and settling down again next to Spike she couldn’t help but notice the face he pulled as he took his first sip.

“Has it gone off? It seemed OK.”

He shrugged. “Nah, ‘s fine, it’s just...” he scanned what he could see of the room. “Don’t suppose you’ve got a kitten hidden anywhere?”

“No! And you’re not allowed to play kitten poker either,” she said firmly, and he sighed deeply and kept drinking. 

Angel however appeared more pleased. “Thanks Buffy. Hopefully-” he didn’t get any further as the door opened without warning and Illyria strode in.

“Do you wish to go to LA?” she asked and Angel after a second’s hesitation nodded and got up.

“Thank you for everything Buffy - especially Willow’s phone number. You sure she won’t mind?”

She shook her head vehemently.

“Spike-” 

The other vampire looked up.

“Do you have any preferences when it comes to a room? I’m figuring we could add extra protection for where we sleep.”

Spike shrugged. “Not bothered, as long as it’s as far away from you as possible.”

Buffy blinked at this apparent rudeness, but Spike caught Angel’s eyes, a tiny smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. Angel looked back silently, then slowly nodded. “Seems like a good idea. Very good idea.” A smile was hiding somewhere in his eyes, although Buffy couldn’t work out what was so funny. 

“I’ll call you when we’re ready to set off again.”

***

As Angel stepped through the portal into the lobby of the Hyperion he looked over his shoulder. They had already forgotten him... Spike must have said something, because Buffy was giggling and mock punching him - and then they vanished.

He sighed. It wasn’t easy, no matter what he said. He’d just have to learn to live with it... to let go of a dream he thought he’d stopped believing in years ago. And compared to all the people he’d lost... at least these two were still alive. He should know by now that the only way of keeping anything safe was by letting it go. 

Except for Nina - so far anyway. She was like a surprise - something that he wasn’t supposed to have, and yet he did. He smiled as he walked up the stairs - he’d definitely have to make sure Spike’s room was as far away as possible.

***

As Illyria geared up to open the portal, Buffy, still pondering their odd behaviour, turned to Spike.

“Can you read minds - vampires I mean?”

Spike shot her a look full of meaning, a sudden wicked grin on his face. “Pretty certain I can read _your_ mind!”

She spluttered and punched him. “No - I mean you and Angel.” She looked up and realised that Angel was gone. 

“No...” Spike answered, shaking his head and looking at her like she was crazy, and she sighed. 

“You just do this _thing_ , and it’s like telepathy or something. It... it kinda freaks me out.”

“Oh,” he frowned. “Sorry - I guess we’ve just been on alone together for what - half a year now? We just...” he thought for a moment, “We know each other too well.” He shook his head, suddenly looking more worn out than he had since he stepped through the door. “And of course there’s the fact that we spent twenty years in the killing field together... that never goes away. Too many bloody memories.” 

He almost smiled at the unintentional pun, then with a slow, deep sigh of contentment let himself settle down with his head in her lap. Looking up at her he continued. 

“Thing is, now we’re bloody well stuck with each other, which isn’t exactly a dream come true... An’ just how am I supposed to survive that when he has a bleedin’ existential crisis whenever it’s dinner time?”

She frowned a little. “So your cure for this is... moving in together?”

He chuckled. “Well I like havin’ my own place, but since my flat got flattened along with half of LA - and Angel actually _owns_ the big brickpile - it seemed dumb not to take advantage... and I _like_ taking advantage!”

A wicked grin spread across his face as he went on to prove the truth in his words, and Buffy forgot everything about Angel and dimension travelling and baby slayers; the only thing in her world one vampire, kissing her.

Five minutes later Dawn walked through the door, screeched, and with warp-speed fled to her bedroom. As Buffy tried to straighten her clothing she thought to herself that Spike having his own place might be very nice indeed.


	6. Chapter 6

“You _do_ know this is all your fault, right?”

Angel’s voice was hard to make out over the din of the fighting and screaming, even though he and Spike were back to back. 

But hear it Spike did, as he with a well-aimed elbow took out an opponent, before having to duck sharpishly to avoid a particularly nasty-looking axe. Jumping back up he caught the axe-wielder under the arm, and then managed to stab it through where its heart was hopefully located.

“How _exactly_ -” Feint, parry, thrust; feel Angel’s reassuringly solid back against his own, “-is this _my_ fault?” 

The conversation was lost for a few minutes as the onslaught thickened, and they had to concentrate on the fighting - Spike killed eleven demons, got stabbed three times and almost lost a hand - but then Angel answered, as he grimly hacked away at a large burly brute.

“You... said... that you were _bored!”_ After parting the slow but powerful demon from most of its limbs the creature finally collapsed, and Angel suddenly had a horde of 3 foot tall creatures swarming at him and had to stop talking as he concentrated on staying alive.

Spike gritted his teeth and used the anger Angel’s words caused as fuel for the fight. As if his throwaway comment could be held responsible for this situation, when the culprit was gleefully tearing her enemies to pieces just a few feet away. No - there was no way Angel was pinning this on _him._

They weren’t sure how long the battle took. The murky, pea-soup green sky never changed its hue, and Angel’s watch had been an early casualty. When they were finally victorious, if exhausted and battered, the only one who felt like partying was Illyria. In fact she looked so happy they almost expected her to hum, which was very unnerving. 

Ignoring her for the time being, Spike focussed on Angel who had collapsed against a large stone, clutching his stomach.

“Right mate, let’s have a look.” 

Angel winced, but slowly unbuttoned his blood-soaked shirt, revealing a deep and nasty looking stab wound - the edges of the weapon had obviously been serrated and Spike smiled grimly. They could really do with getting armour of some sort...

“Well Peaches, it just so happens that today is your lucky day.” 

He reached inside the duster and brought out a small compact first aid kit. 

“Buffy insisted I bring this. ‘S a new slayer thing - they all have to carry them around on patrol and whatnot. Told her it’d just make ‘em soft and sloppy, but she’s like a bloody mother hen when it comes to the next generation. Anyway, should be able to fix you more or less.”

Angel just nodded silently and closed his eyes. 

As Spike deftly cleaned up the wound and patched it up as best he could, Illyria came and hovered behind him, a satisfied smile on her face.

“I shall make you trophies. You fought bravely and helped restore my honour.”

After finally packing away the first aid kit, Spike slowly turned his head, a dangerous glint in his eyes.

“Wanna elaborate on that Blue? Angel dearest feels that somehow this mess is _my_ fault, but I can’t help but thinking that it’s got somethin’ to do with a certain bitchy ex-God who suddenly started slaughtering the people we were trying to negotiate with.”

Illyria’s smile widened and she suddenly reminded them of Dru after a good night out hunting children. “In amongst their worthless prattle they revealed that once upon a time they were the servants of my sworn enemies. The blood of their ancestors was spilled in battle against me when I was defeated. This was only justice much delayed - the price for dishonour is death.”

Angel grimaced and sat himself up, thinly concealed anger on his face.

“You mean I got skewered because these guys fought against you millennia ago?”

His only answer was a superior smile.

Slowly he shook his head. “Spike - I take it back.”

Spike grinned. “Sure you’re OK Peaches? No major brain damage? Can’t remember the last time you admitted to bein’ wrong...”

Angel glared, but didn’t retaliate as his face suddenly clouded over in pain again. Spike turned to Illyria.

“So then - any idea what to do now? Don’t get me wrong, I thought that was a fun tussle, but it hardly helped us find what we’re looking for. An’ since we’ve now been to The World of Smoke and The World of Beetles before ending up in this hellhole, I thought maybe we could go someplace slightly more civilised!”

Illyria stared him down haughtily. “What you so dismissively refer to as ‘beetles’ are the descendants of a deity as brilliant as I, who once dazzled all the dimensions. Their world was beauty and splendour untold.”

Spike shrugged, indifferent. “What goes up, must come down. You wanna spend 5 days talking to a cockroach about its fabulous past, please do it on your own time in future.”

Blue eyes met blue eyes, sparked, and locked together.

“Do not presume to tell me what to do vampire-”

Angel cut her off. “Look - do you know if there’s anything edible around? _Not_ birds!”

Spike caught his eyes and they shared a moment. World of Smoke had been mighty pretty, but food had been a moot point. World of Bugs had - apart from the roaches - not had any other discernible life except for odd little birdlike creatures that had been smaller than rats and tasted twice as bad. And instead of taking them home, Illyria had brought them to this place, where they’d finally found intelligent life before the Blue Queen had gone on her vengeance spree. But if there were demons, there would be something for them to eat. 

Illyria just shrugged off Angel’s question, and Spike sighed.

“I’ll go look. Try not to bleed any more than necessary, ‘K?”

***

Many hours later Spike returned with an assortment of various odd looking creatures. Hunting was definitely not as much fun when injured - his stab wounds did not merit any medical attention, but the pain was pretty constant, and added to that was of course the exhaustion and the general battering he’d taken. What he’d have done without the crossbow he didn’t like to think about.

On the upside he had spotted some sort of village in the far distance, so maybe they could find a tribe that hadn’t quarrelled with Illyria back in the Cretaceous Period...

 _The price for dishonour is death_... These god types were all the same he thought, as he with a small smile recalled pissing off Glory. Just press the buttons and watch them go.

Angel was asleep when he returned, but Spike woke him, since blood would heal him a lot quicker than a nap. Illyria had been busy, having separated several of the largest fallen demons from their skin and flesh, and she was now busy creating fantastical structures out of the bones, tying them together with the tough, long grass that covered the ground as far as they eye could see. 

“You know that really reminds me of Fred...” Angel remarked with a frown, having drained the last animal - a strange three-legged, beaked, fuzzy thing that neither of them could classify, but that didn’t taste half-bad. 

Spike raised an eyebrow, and Angel began explaining about Fred’s cave in Pylea and what that world had been like.

“Hey - you think mirrors work here?” Spike asked, pulling out his sword, before sighing. “Nope. No reflection.”

“Lucky for your sword,” Angel deadpanned, and Spike scoffed. “Says the guy who _still_ has demon goo in his hair.”

“What?”

Angel dragged his hand through his hair and grimaced in distaste at the sticky mess. Spike grinned and pointed out that there was a stream not far away, and Angel walked off immediately to have a rudimentary clean. 

After getting some sleep they slowly set off towards the distant village, leaving behind two tall trophies set on a small hill, visible for miles around. 

“Can anyone tell me why we’re not going home?” Spike asked. “This place doesn’t appear to have anythin’ except thick demons and sharp grass. And Angel’s still hurt and probably can’t fight better than a kitten.”

”I’m _fine._ And we won’t need to fight if no one _starts_ any fights!”

Angel’s jaw was working, and Spike sent him a look. “ _I_ didn’t start anything. And if you’re _fine_ , why don’t _you_ go hunting tonight?”

That earned him a scowl and they kept walking in prickly silence, until Illyria suddenly spoke.

“Before I metered out my punishment, the blasphemers spoke of a minor deity residing in this dimension, not far away. We will find It and see what power and knowledge It possess.”

“Hunh.” 

Spike and Angel shared a look. That actually made sense, although as usual Illyria had kept her knowledge to herself until she deemed the time right.

***

The hilly country took a lot longer to cross than they had first estimated, and what Spike had first thought a small collection of huts turned out to be a bit bigger than they had anticipated. A tall wall of logs surrounded the large village, the ends sharpened in a way rather worrying for a vampire, and there were heavily armed guards at the gate. Illyria of course walked straight up, fixing them with her cool, unnerving stare.

“Take me to your leader.”

Spike nearly choked and did his very best not to look at Angel. Getting the giggles now was probably a bad idea, but he had a terrible suspicion that Illyria was actually channelling Fred...

As they walked through the randomly arranged huts, Spike half-wondered what sort of demi-God would be happy in a place like this. It looked more comfortable than anything else they’d seen so far, but it was dirty and smelly and a far cry from the opulence Glory had surrounded herself with. Finally they arrived at a large building, dwarfing the surrounding huts and decorated with simple, but ornate symbols. A well-endowed female demon was waiting for them, smiling and letting them know that her Master was willing to see them now. 

Angel elbowed Spike, muttering to stop ogling her chest, but it really wasn’t easy. As demons went she really was something special, if possibly a bit on the chubby side for Spike’s tastes... but what was he supposed to do when she wore a dress so low-cut that it appeared to defy gravity? Ilona had nothing on this chick.

Thankfully she turned around and led them into the temple. Taking his eyes off her rather fetching behind, Spike looked ahead to see who their host could be. And then the giggles that he had managed to suppress at the gate came back hundred fold. 

Angel and Illyria both stopped and glared at him. Angel was beginning to look very pissed off. “Spike!” he hissed. “What is it now?”

Reaching out and leaning on Angel’s arm, Spike tried to find enough breath to speak, as he waved weakly towards the creature sat on the large throne on a raised dais at the end of the hall. “It’s... it’s Olaf!” 

Illyria looked from Olaf the troll to Spike and back again. “You have encountered this being before?”

Wiping his eyes, Spike nodded. “You could say that... well been thrown around by him at least.” Seeing the look on Angel’s face, he tried to explain a little more. 

“Um... he was trapped in some mystical ball or other and Willow accidentally freed him - back in Sunnydale. He broke The Bronze to pieces. Oh and he was Anya’s ex - she was the one who turned him into a troll...” 

He sighed, for a moment lost in memories. “Good times.”

Angel ran a hand across his face. “Does any of that actually help us, or...” but Olaf cut in.

“Who are these puny creatures? I was told that they were Champions, but they are clearly far too small and fragile for that. Throw them in the dungeon and we will sacrifice them to the wild animals for sport at the next games.”

Illyria stiffened in outrage, but Spike put a hand on her arm. “Hold your horses, your Majesty, remember we’re here to extract some information, yeah? Let me talk to him.”

Stepping forward, he smirked at the ugly green face. “You might not remember me, but we met once - just after Anya’s witch-friend freed you from the crystal thingy...”

“You are a friend of Anyanka’s?” Olaf interrupted, anger forming like black clouds on his face.

“Well I was before she died...” Spike replied, but at his words Olaf’s whole demeanour changed.

“She is dead? That is good news. Aaaaah, very good news! Wench!”

The comely demon reappeared.

“Spread the news in my kingdom that this is to be a day of feasting. Slaughter the biggest oxen and the plumpest babies and gather all the most attractive young girls!” Grinning he turned to Spike.

“Anyanka’s death was my most cherished wish. Impossible, infuriating woman, making my life arduous and troublesome with her ridiculous need for love and reassurance at every turn. I should have dumped her before she had the chance to exact vengeance! And her body was far too angular and lean.”

The booming words caused Spike’s world to go red in an instant. Every trace of laughter disappeared from his mind as he remembered an evening more than 3 years ago. An empty shop and a woman with a broken heart...

_“When, really, I ... can't sleep at night, thinking it ... has to be my fault, somehow... What if it was just pretending? What if he never wanted me ... the way I wanted him?”_

Unable to stop his eyes from turning golden with anger, he stared at Olaf, hands clenching into fists at his side. 

“You sure about that?”

Olaf laughed heartily. _“You_ \- the bearer of glad tidings - shall have my comeliest wench for your own, and shall sit at my side as we celebrate this glorious day! Never shall Anyanka aggravate a man again!”

The troll’s entire round countenance appeared to glow with goodwill, and Spike could feel the raw, ragged edges of grief tearing at him, as memory upon memory flooded his mind. Why was it always the good ones who died? 

Speaking coldly and deliberately, he fixed Olaf with a fierce glare.

“Some of us _like_ our women to be aggravating... And a man would have to be _deaf, dumb and blind_ not to want a woman like Anya.”

Then, letting the demon out, he continued - sharp, cruel fangs a welcome feeling.

“So today just happens to be your lucky day, since I can arrange all of those!”

And in a single fluid motion he brought up his crossbow and fired an arrow straight into the troll’s left eye. 

Roaring in pain Olaf pulled out the dart and stood up, furious and wild, but Spike had already reloaded and the next arrow took out the right eye. Flailing wildly, Olaf toppled off the dais, and the next instant Spike was on top of him, dagger in hand, cutting out first his tongue then slicing off an ear. Putting his mouth close to the one ear still intact, Spike spoke, voice icy. “My blue friend over there has a saying - ‘the price for dishonour is death’. I think she’s onto something. Anya was a _bloody amazing woman_ , an’ she died saving the world. Whereas _you_ were only ever an ugly waste of space!”

Olaf’s strong hands were trying to pull him off, but Spike tore off the second ear, and whilst the pain was distracting the troll, Spike jumped clear. Then he slowly drew his sword, waiting for the green giant to get to his feet, before with cold precision decapitating him.

For a moment he contemplated the bloody, mutilated head at his feet, smiling grimly; thinking it was a shame Anya couldn’t see this. Then turning around, letting his human features come forward again, he suddenly realised that Angel was yelling at him.

“What _the fuck_ did you do that for, you braindead _moron_? You are without a doubt the _single dumbest vampire_ to ever have been sired in this or any other dimension! _Christ_ Spike - how are we ever going to get any information if you slaughter those we talk to?”

“I liked Anya,” Spike replied, then realised that this was not going to be enough for Angel. 

“An’ we had... a thing. Once. And this guy was a total jerk towards her - he’s had this coming for eleven hundred years. Like what Blue said - it was much-delayed justice!”

He caught Illyria’s eyes and smiled. Turning only her head she looked at Angel. “Defending a friend’s honour is noble indeed.” 

Looking back at Spike she asked, “Will you keep the head for a trophy?”

Picking it up by the unruly red hair, he studied it more closely. “Might, you know. Will need somethin’ to decorate my new digs, won’t I?”

He could see Angel ready to launch into another tirade, but then the doors burst open and a horde of angry demons flooded through, yelling something about vengeance.

As Spike and Angel instinctively took up positions back-to-back to fight off the onslaught, Angel angrily threw one last irate comment over his shoulder.

“This time it really _is_ all your fault!”


	7. Chapter 7

Buffy didn’t like stairs. She’d never had any particular antipathy towards them before, but now she was beginning to develop some _serious_ issues. 

Why couldn’t Willow have fixed the lift while she was doing the big protection spell thing for the hotel? Sighing deeply, Buffy thought to herself that her friend had probably been too distracted researching that hell beastie that was supposed to herald the latest apocalypse, to worry about people’s legs...

“Why did you decide to have a room on the _top_ floor?” she asked Spike petulantly, taking a tiny break before scaling what she hoped was the last flight.

He turned and looked at her. “It’s as far away from Angel’s as possible,” he replied, as though it was obvious, and then kept walking.

“Yeah - what’s up with that? Do you really dislike each other _that_ much?” 

He stopped halfway up and shot her a bemused look over his shoulder, eyebrow raised. 

“Um - we’re vampires? This way we can’t hear each other.”

“Oh...” she replied, things suddenly falling into place. _Oh_. She’d never realised that vampire hearing was _that_ good...

Did things ever stop being complicated?

Finally walking down a corridor she felt a need to change the subject, and asked what his old flat had been like.

He thought for a little moment, then shrugged. “Spartan. To go with the whole hero life-style...”

Then he stopped by the last door and slowly pushed it open.

“So - what do you think?” 

There were happy secrets dancing in his eyes, and she stepped through the door she understood why.

Blinking against the the soft candlelight, she found that she was unable to stop the smile spreading across her face as she took in the large cosy bed, the mismatched furniture and the ornate rugs on the floor. The walls were dark red, like most other rooms in the hotel, and she could see a stash of weapons stacked in a corner. 

Angel’s rooms were - as she remembered from his place in Sunnydale - elegant and furnished with great taste. But Spike - for some impossible, illogical reason - went straight for the warm and snuggly. This room, like the downstairs of his long-gone crypt, could not be at greater odds with the image he projected. And in the strangest, most wonderful way, it felt like finding a long-lost piece of home.

Seeing that he was waiting for an answer, she said the first thing that came into her head.

“Not so much with the spartan, more with the... _comfy.”_

“Remember that, do you?” he replied, his smile widening to match hers.

“Oh yeah,” she said, “and so do Rona and Vi - didn’t I tell you about that? They were all over me - or rather _us_ \- at the Slayer meet...” 

Then, lifting an eyebrow, she couldn’t help teasing. “Anyway - does all this comfort mean you’ve given up on the hero thing?”

Chuckling he shook his head. “Figured that since I spend most of my time sleeping with a rock for a pillow, I deserved somethin’ nice back here. Also the old place wasn’t home - just a place to crash.”

“And this is? Home?”

“This has _you_ ,” he replied, reaching out and brushing a lock of hair off her face, and the catch in his voice made her swallow. She looked at him, at the flickering golden light skimming over his features, and the look in his eyes abruptly brought up memories she’d thought long forgotten...

_“I’m drowning in you Summers, I’m drowning...”_

The next moment the world went away, as he was kissing her and all she knew was that he should never, ever stop. 

Somehow they ended up on the bed, which was wide and soft and she traced his features with a finger, trying to understand how come he could be so perfect in every way. 

Then she caught sight of something over his shoulder - something hairy and large and green and bloody that had been hidden behind the door.

“Spike... What. Is. _That?”_

***

Angel didn’t know anyone else who started the day with beer. As he sipped his blood, he took in the look of bliss that passed over Spike’s face as he emptied the cool bottle, and wondered again at how exactly Spike _worked_. He seemed to defy logic.

It was mid-afternoon, and they were sitting in the kitchen of the Hyperion, having just got up. Spike had come in as Angel was taking his blood out of the microwave, still sleepy-eyed and tousle-haired and wearing only a pair of jeans. And smelling like Buffy and sex.

He’d stopped in the doorway and obviously contemplated turning back the way he’d come, but Angel had sighed and shaken his head.

“Just... whatever. Told you I was OK.”

Spike had nodded, although he’d not looked quite convinced, and gone to fetch a beer. Of course Spike was onto something, because it wasn’t easy for Angel at all, but he’d decided to just go with it... for Buffy’s sake. He didn’t want to make _her_ uncomfortable. And he couldn’t really fault her for being attracted to Spike - his family had always been beautiful...

“So Buffy liked your room then?” he asked, unable to think of anything else to say, and mentally kicking himself the second the words left his mouth.

Spike nodded and then tried to curb the wide smile that spread across his face, before suddenly frowning. 

“She didn’t like Olaf. Made me put him in the room next door.” 

His voice was petulant, and this time it was Angel trying to hide a smile.

“You mean Buffy doesn’t like mutilated troll heads? How strange...”

Spike scowled and Angel felt back on firmer ground. He’d watched with interest as Spike had furnished his room - wondering if he’d changed since they’d last shared accommodation a century before (Sunnydale didn’t count), and, much to his secret delight, discovering that he’d not. You could apparently take the Victorian out of the drawing room, but not vice versa. Fair enough, Spike wasn’t big on knick-knacks, but Angel would bet the entire hotel that Spike had in some way replicated his childhood interiors. With the odd addition of course... He had really taken to the troll head, and was currently trying to decide whether to try to shrink it or boil off the flesh and use it as a punchbowl. Angel wondered what Buffy had thought of those options, or if she’d just wanted rid of it, full stop.

And maybe she’d been a bit put off by the Anya connection too...

After they’d fought their way out of Olaf’s village, Angel had tried to extract some more information about Anya, having only the vaguest memory of an attractive young woman by Xander’s side.

Spike had not been particularly forthcoming, but Angel had slowly wheedled the story out of him - having been run through _again_ helping well in the piling on of guilt. Of course once Spike relayed the circumstances of the ‘one time’, Angel began to see just how awkward and painful the whole situation had been. He’d also learned more about Buffy’s initial relationship with Spike than he’d really wished.

“I mean he was some sort of God right?” Angel belatedly realised that Spike was still speaking. “A minor one, but still - shouldn’t I get some sort of props for taking him down?”

Angel silently shook his head, before getting up to rinse his cup. He was absolutely _not_ getting involved. 

“You inviting Nina round tonight? Know Buffy would like to meet her.”

_“What?”_

Angel turned, stared at Spike. “Let them... _meet?”_

Spike nodded, as though this was a perfectly sane thing to say. 

“They’re curious, and they’ll probably get along. An’ since Buffy is here for a few days...”

It would be awkward. Very awkward. Angel didn’t like awkward. He’d managed to keep the Buffy-part of his life separate from the Nina-part and that’s how he’d like it to continue.

He grimaced. “Wouldn’t it be... awkward?”

Spike laughed. _“You_ do not know the meaning of the word ‘awkward’, _trust_ me. There was this one time...”

He stopped, then bit his lip and shook his head. “Not telling you that one. Anyway, I’m just saying that they’re going to be all civilised and nice... So why not try?”

Damn. But there seemed no way around it - he could imagine that Buffy would start asking too, as soon as she returned. Oh he really _did_ hate it when Spike was right. 

“I guess. If she’s free...”

“Like she’s going to pass up a chance like that!” Spike was grinning, and then with perfect aim threw the empty bottle into the bin. Standing up he shot Angel a droll look.

“Dunno what you’re so worried about. What’s the worst that’s gonna happen? Hell if you can look _me_ in the eyes on a daily basis...”

Staring back, Angel was momentarily speechless. Then he answered, features immobile and voice tightly controlled.

“That’s different.”

A beat, then Spike abruptly looked away.

“S’posse it is...”

Then without another word he walked off - not quite using vampire speed, but nearly.

Closing his eyes Angel swore quietly. What did Spike have to go do that for? Their whole relationship and getting along hinged on not bringing up _those parts_ of their past. That way only lay pain - pain and regret and all sorts of other things that were far too tender to touch upon. And they had _dealt_ with it. Put it behind them. Moved on. Maybe one day in the far distant future they could talk about it... but not yet. Had Spike swapped his brain for a bag of sawdust or something? _Damn_ him.

Slowly Angel unclenched his hands and took a deep breath. Call Nina - that was the thing to do. Let her meet Buffy, and then her curiosity would be satisfied and they needn’t meet again...

A few minutes later he had arranged to pick her up after college - she was staying late to finish a project, so it would be nicely dark before she was done. Of course it was risky for him to go out, but the protection spell on Nina’s family was strong enough for an all-out apocalypse, so he’d only be putting himself at risk... and after Spike had insisted on taking Buffy out to a romantic dinner the night before, W&H or no, if anyone had wanted to throw bombs at them it’d have happened already...

***

Life was a strange, strange thing, Angel thought. His own life in particular. The way it lurched wildly from despair to brief bursts of happiness always confused him, and he was not good at grasping the good while it was there.

But this moment, walking along hand in hand with his beautiful girlfriend on a cool November evening, was pretty perfect. They were chatting - she was telling him about about her studies and her family, and he was relating tales from various dimensions, and it was just... comfortable. Easy. He studied her, the animated face, the woollen jacket, her warm hand clasped in his, and he still felt that it was a dream. This didn’t happen...

His women, his relationships had always been incredible... and complicated. Difficult. Heartbreaking.

But things with Nina were different. She liked him. He liked her. And that was it. He’d broken up with her, and she’d been mad. And then taken him back and things were OK again. No drama. Angel wasn’t entirely sure how to deal with a relationship that didn’t contain drama, but he was beginning to suspect that he liked it very much indeed. 

“So... where was I?”

“Something about the weird melty land?”

“Oh...” he frowned. “No, that was just boring. After that we went to a place where we talked to these three witches who sent us on a wild goose chase round 5 different dimensions... Remind me never to trust witches again. Except for Willow of course - when she isn’t evil.”

“Actually - I’ve been meaning to ask... this big spell thing that Willow did on the hotel. How does it work?”

“Um...” he thought for a moment. “Basically anyone not included in the spell enters a parallel world when they go through the gates. So they could blow the whole building up, and it’d make no difference to us... She said it was a variation of a spell she did a few years ago in Sunnydale, but I didn’t quite catch the details.”

“Smart!”

He smiled. “Willow was always smart.”

They were nearly there now, and he turned to look at her, reaching out and stroking her face. “You are so beautiful...”

She laughed. “You’re just saying that to stop me worrying about meeting Buffy.”

He looked at her, before shaking his head. “No I’m not.” Then he leaned in and kissed her, and she happily responded; her body moulding itself to fit his, and her scent - so clear and clean, but with an undercurrent of feral blood thirst running through it - made him shiver. 

Slowly he pulled away, looking into her eyes, and he was unable to stop a smile spreading across his face. 

Then he offered her his arm, and nodding towards the gates asked, “Shall we?”

She grinned and put her arm though his. “We shall!”

***

Grumbling in disgust, Willow threw ‘The Anthology of Pan-Dimensional Creatures and Beings’ across the table. She knew it all by heart anyway. And the other books had been even less help.

_‘The Beast, heralding the Ending of All Things, will appear in the Desert of the Desolate, one year before the Great Rising.’_

And that was all... there was something about its horns, but the translation was... impossible. Not to mention the fact that trying to figure out _which_ desert was proving far more difficult than she’d ever imagined. In a fit of despair she’d even shown it to Angel a few weeks before. He had frowned in an encouraging manner, before telling her about The Beast ( _with horns!_ ) that had been running around LA a few years before, blocking out the sun and such like. But then he’d grinned.

“Of course that was before I killed it...”

So that had been another dead end. Although if _that_ Beast had been the one mentioned in these texts also, then all this research was for nothing.

She needed a distraction. Maybe she could call someone for a chat? It wasn’t far from dawn here, so Buffy ought to be up... wherever she was.

The phone only rang twice before Buffy picked up.

“Willow! Hi! How are you? Actually... just hang on, I need to go somewhere where I can talk in peace... Spike’s still asleep...”

Willow listened in silence as there was some scuffling and then the sound of a door opening.

“OK, this should be... oh no! Troll head. Yuk!”

“Um... troll head?” Willow frowned. There were some non-sequiteurs that were just _too_ bizarre to follow. 

“Remember Olaf? Spike and Angel ran across him in some helldimension and Spike decided to kill him and bring the head home as a souvenir or something. Just _gross_. Didn’t realise he’d put it this room.” Buffy made a shuddery sort of sound and Willow heard a door being firmly shut.

“Anything happen that _didn’t_ involve trolls?” Willow asked, putting up her feet on a chair and studying the sunrise that was just beginning outside. She shouldn’t have stayed up so late, but she was still jet-lagged and couldn’t sleep.

“M-hm!” There was definite glee in Buffy’s voice. “I met Angel’s girlfriend last night!” 

“Oooh tell tell! What’s she like? Do you want me to hate her too?” 

Buffy laughed. “No, no need to hate her, even though she is lovely. In a perfectly-normal-just-happens-to-be-a-werewolf-and-dating-Angel-kinda-way... It’s just so _weird!_ I mean... Angel. _Dating._ And they held hands and he smiled lots. Which is good of course, but...”

“Weird, right?” Willow finished, smiling wryly and trying to stifle a yawn. 

“Oh yeah. Much with the weirdness... But I’m dealing. I’m Coping!Buffy. Oh and we - as in me and Nina - went shopping today! Things are _way_ different than when I used to live here. I mean apart from half the city being flattened by demon armies... All the shops that used to be cool are total no-go’s. But Nina showed me this gorgeous new shoe shop where I got the most adorable pumps - oh and she told me that Angel dumped her ‘for her own good’ before the big battle went down. Apparently she’s still making him pay for that!”

Willow could vividly picture the wicked grin on Buffy’s face. And abruptly she remembered her friend crying inconsolably many years ago now... who could ever have foreseen that the story could have such a happy ending?

“So... you’re bonding over Angel’s misplaced protectiveness and shoes? Sounds wonderful...”

There might have been a twinge of jealously in that last sentence, but Willow couldn’t help herself. And Buffy obviosuly picked up on it.

“So... where are _you?_ Hiding in a library somewhere busy working?” 

And now Buffy sounded guilty. Willow sighed. “Australia at the moment. I’m just so bored that I’m actually considering conjuring up an imaginary friend to keep me company. Of course when I was in London I had Andrew, but that was _worse_ than being alone. And not even he could make sense of these texts. And if there really _is_ another apocalypse on the way, it’d help to know. Like when and where and what...”

There was silence on the other end for a long moment. It had been a year and a half since they beat The First. There had been a feeling of elation, of having made a significant step forwards. And now with this new thing, they were losing grip... there were supposed to be signs and warnings, but if they couldn’t find them in time they’d be completely clueless. It didn’t help to have an army of Slayers, if it was in the wrong place. Then Buffy spoke again, voice light, skirting around the issue. 

“I’d offer to help, but... Not really my forte. But - in good news I got you a really neat surprise! So when you come round next time that’ll be waiting for you. Oh and remember Illyria - the deity that makes Glory look humble? Guess what her favourite thing is - after eviscerating her enemies of course? Spike’s Playstation. Most of the time I’ve been here she’s been, like, glued to it, playing some game or other called ‘Crush Bandicooties’. It’s way, _way_ beyond bizarre! Actually, that reminds me...”

Buffy’s voice suddenly turned hesitating, “...do I remind you of Fiona from Shrek?”

Willow blinked in confusion. “Um... I suppose you look a bit like Cameron Diaz... Why?”

“We watched Shrek last night and Spike had this really weird theory - but I don’t think being a Slayer is _at all_ like turning green and fat and also my voice doesn’t make things explode - except for that one time with the Gentlemen, but that was magic and therefore doesn’t count, and did I tell you about the restaurant we - as in Spike and I - went out to the day before yesterday? _Soooo_ romantic...”

A ‘Buffy In Love’ was a truly incredible creature, Willow thought. It had been so long since she’d observed it, that she’d almost forgotten just how - _exuberant_ her friend could be, and she found herself being somewhat relieved that there was a half a world between them. Silently she half-wished that she herself had a new love to distract her... Not that she and Kennedy weren’t good, but - that kind of distraction would be very welcome.

As she listened with half an ear to Buffy’s happy chatter, she absentmindedly flicked through a book the local Watcher had brought in and a strange symbol caught her eyes. Wasn’t that the same as... Swiftly retrieving the Anthology she almost whooped with joy, because it was her hellbeastie! She could only work out one symbol in 10, but it was enough to show her that there was new info. Buffy abruptly bid goodbye since Spike had woken up, and Willow distractedly wished them both a nice day. She had an apocalypse to plan...


	8. Chapter 8

It rained and it rained and it rained.

Spike stared out into the wetness, slowly turning the fragment of Dead Key over and over in his hands. 3 days it had been now - 3 days by this world’s time at least. Felt like more, although he couldn’t be sure... his internal clock was irredeemably screwed up. 

Tearing his eyes away from the window (a generous term for the small hole in the wall) he looked around the paltry stone hut again, as if by some miracle things would have improved. But it was no use. There was still nothing there except a primitive bed made up with straw and furs, and a stoic Angel, carefully inspecting the leather armour they had bartered their way to in the smithy down by the river. 

Running his thumb along the small oddly shaped lump, Spike wondered if they’d ever actually _need_ the armour now - unless of course their ‘hosts’ decided that they wanted to kill them after all...

Not being dead was the most surprising thing about the whole situation, actually. The battle had been vicious and they’d been so far outnumbered that Spike had been of more than half a mind to ask Illyria to get them the hell out of dodge, no matter what these creatures knew or guarded, so when he’d heard the familiar crackle of a portal opening he’d been more relieved than he dared admit. 

Except... he’d turned to see Illyria step through by herself, a wide and fearsome smile on her bloodied face - and then the portal had closed.

For a long moment there had not been a sound or movement anywhere. Slowly he’d turned to Angel, and their eyes had met in silent resignation. This was it. She’d finally betrayed them for good and now their time was up. 

But the onslaught didn’t continue. Their opponents began arguing - shouting and gesturing and waving weapons at each other - and after a long while Spike and Angel had been invited back to the local ‘town’... As far as they could tell the demons thought that Illyria had gone off to get reinforcements or invoke special powers or something. This was an idea they did their best to encourage, although the language barrier was quite formidable. The demons were obviously in some way related to Fyarl, although their horns were smaller and their brains quite clearly of a much superior quality. But the languages were so close that Spike could muddle through more or less...

So here they were. Lost. Stuck. Angel reckoned that there was probably a warlock somewhere that would be able to get them home, but it was a tenuous hope, and asking would mean admitting that their Hellgod had abandoned them for good - which might in turn mean swift meetings with pointy sticks. And even if they _did_ get home, what could they do except sit around, waiting for W &H to find them? What about their quest - their mission - their war? 

With a sigh Spike tucked the key fragment into his pocket again. Two pieces they had found, and that was all. How many dimensions had they been to already? 20? 30? Slowly, against his will, he took out his cellphone. As his fingers hovered over the surface, magical symbols swirled to life and faded away again, like the ebb and flow of the tide. How many spells was it protected with? And yet it made no difference here... Pressing the contact list Buffy’s name appeared, next to the pointless ‘no signal’. 

He took a shaky breath and closed his eyes. What if he never made it home? What if he never saw her again? What if she never found out what had happened, and was just left waiting and waiting? What if... 

There were too many bloody ‘what if’s’. And all the issues he’d done his best to avoid thinking too deeply about were now staring him in the face. Because _this_ \- this possible loss - was one reason why he’d never called. He had let go of her once, in the Hellmouth itself, when she’d been within reach for only a moment. But to have had her - for her to really, truly be his - and then lose her again... it terrified him more than he could say. And the flip side was even worse - he now had the power to hurt her.

Forcing his eyes open, he deliberately put the phone back. Thinking too deeply invariably made the word ‘hell’ become far too prominent - since he could find no other term for the notion of being stuck anywhere permanently with Angel. 

Dear lord he needed to get out.

“Wanna go get something to eat?”

Angel looked up and nodded. There was no point in waiting until the rain let up, since, as far as they’d been able to understand, they had arrived in the middle of the monsoon season. At least food wasn’t a problem - the species they were living amongst were all blood drinkers, and there was a well stocked slaughter house across the town square at the bottom of the hill.

If it wasn’t for the fact that they were _stuck_ , and the never-ending rain, it was a pleasant enough place - by far the most civilised they’d come across so far. The town stretched out for miles, endless stone huts clinging to the hills, except for what they presumed to be a temple on the tallest of the hills across the valley. It was the largest structure they'd seen and was built for the local deity, whose name was unpronounceable, but whose statue was situated at the top end of the town square. It was usually flanked by soldiers, members of the efficient and well-trained army they’d faced when they first arrived. Spike sincerely hoped they’d not run across any more organised types... presuming they got out of here.

Walking through the streets, they could feel curious eyes follow them. In the world of humans they were always hidden, shadows in the night. But here they were regarded with a mixture of fear and admiration that was strange - and oddly gratifying. It was nothing like Andrew’s hero worship, or the younger Slayers’ curiosity... it was respect from the nearest they might have to peers. Or mortal enemies. The jury was still out on that one. If - when - Illyria came back they’d find out which one for sure.

And yet... for all the ways in which this place appeared to be a demon heaven, it felt as alien to them as the world of humans. For vampires, family was the base for everything. Bonds of blood (and love) were stronger than allegiance to any outside person or god. And just the thought of actually _building_ a house... Spike shook his head in wonder. Having never really contemplated the nature of what he was, he studied a team of demons busy laying the foundations for a new lot of huts with interest - quite an impressive feat in the rain. To settle down so thoroughly... 

Spike was shaken out of his thoughts when a small child shyly ran up to them, pressing a charm into his hand and speaking quickly, almost stumbling over the words. 

_“From mine mother, through gratefulness for sparing mine father on warring fields.”_

Before he could react the kid had vanished again. He blinked - not remembering much of the battle except desperately trying to stay alive - and studied the small metal disk more closely. Standard good luck enchantment as far as he could make out. Casting Angel a surprised look, he couldn’t help but smiling. Angel shrugged. 

“It was like this in Pylea - all ‘Welcome Great Warrior’. Then suddenly they started slaughtering people for food. Watch out.”

Spike sighed, but still put the leather strap around his neck - it was much too long, since the demons had necks far wider than theirs, so he had to wind it round a few times. Couldn’t hurt though. And it was a nice charm. 

If only he had an umbrella... 

When they were halfway down the hill, there was a sudden bright blue light from down below and a loud cracking sound like thunder... And having a good view of the town square from their position, they saw a portal tear through the air and widen. 

Relief soaked Spike more thoroughly than the rain, but then he frowned... because the portal kept growing. The street was suddenly full of demons, everyone obviously rushing down to find out what was happening. Following the crowds the two vampires hung back a little, climbing a wall on the side of the square to get a better overview of the situation. The surface of the portal was misty and obscure, and Spike and Angel looked at each other, worried... this could quite possibly be something different again.

A sudden blast nearly made them lose their footing. 

Out from the rift stepped Illyria... a tiny figure in the crowded square, and yet it was impossible to look elsewhere. Her head was crowned with a wreath, like a Roman emperor, and around her neck hung necklaces made from skulls and bones. Through her and around her power crackled like electricity - her hair fanning out and her eyes shining like blue torches. Silently she held her right hand aloft, and in it a sudden green-white light ignited, so bright that it almost burned. It lit up the entire square, illuminating the thousands of demon faces and making the rain appear like falling drops of pure light.

_“Listen_! You who fought against me, you who profaned my name. I have found true followers, a people who honour me still. Forswear your blasphemous ways or I shall unleash terror upon you!”

She passed her left hand across the surface of the portal, and they could see through into the other side. Thousands upon thousands of demon soldiers underneath a black sky, weapons held aloft and screaming Illyria’s name, met their eyes.

Spike swallowed. Fuck it, but that head priest had been right. He could see him now, right at the front on the throng, face twisted with worry. So what would it be... bloodbath or submission? 

Illyria at least tried to make their choice easier. Smiling cruelly, eyes flashing, with a single gesture of her hand she made the huge statue of ‘God-with-the-unpronounceable-name’ at the opposite end of the square collapse into ruins. 

“And God smote the fake idols of the unbelievers...” Angel muttered, eyes fixed on the creature contained in the body of what had once been their sweetest friend. 

Spike’s hand tightened around the hilt of his sword. 

Illyria’s eyes passed over the crowd in front of her.

“I. Am. _**Illyria**_. I am the ruler of all that I behold. _Bow before me!”_

There was a sudden flash of lightning in the sky and a moment later the entire world seemed to shake with the force of the thunder that followed. 

Then the head priest cried out, lifting his staff - and in a silent wave the entire crowd fell down. 

Spike and Angel watched as Illyria with a tiny nod accepted the surrender, her expression haughty, but gratified. 

The rain was still pouring down; but where everyone else was soaked and bedraggled-looking, the water made Illyria gleam all over, the power that illuminated her causing sparks to dance around her slender frame. She - for the first time Spike could remember - appeared truly otherworldly, like she could at any moment change into a different shape or possibly become pure energy. She looked... like a god. They forgot, no matter how often she harped on, what she really was. 

Then, finally, her eyes sought them out. Spike wondered what she’d do... smite them for not bowing down like the rest? It was entirely possible - she was obviously on a serious power trip. 

And then - she winked.

Spike nearly fell off the wall in surprise. Jaw dropping he stared at her, but her attention was again elsewhere. With a wave of her hand she closed the portal and let the light in her other hand go out, then walked up to the head priest. 

“Arise, Priest, and take me to my temple.”

Then turning, she sent a supercilious glance at the crowd. 

“You may return to your work. But remember to whom you owe your allegiance.”

Then, fixing Spike and Angel with a piercing glance, she added. “My champions - follow me.”

Unsure, yet seeing no choice, they both jumped off the wall and made their way to where their goddess was waiting. Sighing, Spike really wished that they’d managed to get a meal before she’d showed up. He felt hollow. And soggy.

The priest led the way, and Angel and Spike automatically fell into step a little behind Illyria - they must look rather like bodyguards, Spike thought wryly, as they made their way up to the top of the hill.

As they walked, Angel - probably fed up with the wet and the cold - moved forwards so he was almost level with Illyria. 

“Excuse me _your Highness_ -” Angel’s voice packed as much sarcasm into the title as was possible, “- but do you feel like explaining why you _abandoned_ us?”

She answered without turning her head. “They summoned me. And do not dare to suggest that I would steer away from our chosen path.”

Spike caught up. “They - _what_? Who summoned?”

“The inhabitants of the dimension of The Never Ending Black Night... as you saw, they still revere me in the way that is fitting. They held their yearly tribute, slaughtering beasts and enemies in my honour, calling upon my name. So I came.”

Spike was stunned. “You could... hear it? Or sense it or what?”

“I am a God. I know when my name is invoked in the proper manner.” She shot him a look so dry he was surprised the rain didn’t stop.

“Right...” Spike glanced at Angel. This was new. Angel appeared to turn it over in his head, then spoke.

“Still... you left us.”

“It was only _three days_ for you! I am not your _nurse_ , that I need to tend to your every need, vampire.”

She’d learned sarcasm as though born to it, Spike thought. Although... wait...

“How did you know that it was three days for us?”

She smiled, superior as always. “Time once bent to my will. Its ebbs and flows in all the worlds are as clear to me as the hands upon a clock.”

The whole abandonment issue vanished as Spike took in the implications. “So you always know how much time passes back home when we’re elsewhere?” 

Illyria nodded, and Angel shook his head in disbelief. “So - what day is it on Earth?”

Without hesitation she replied. “Today - by human reckoning - is Wednesday 15th of December 2004. Two days have passed there since we left. And the three days that passed here are the equivalent of five days and thirteen hours by your world’s reckoning.”

Spike’s head was spinning. “So... how long have we been travelling altogether? I mean since we set off from The Raven’s cave.”

“One hundred and eighty three days and twenty hours.”

“Riiiight. So like... around six months? Bloody hell.” 

Spike was going to continue, but they now found themselves in front of the temple, and without another word Illyria scaled the steps and entered, the vampires and the priest slowly following.

Walking down the central aisle, flanked by intricately carved columns, Illyria for once looked at home. The roof was high and domed and the tall, narrow windows let in thin slits of light, illuminating statues along the walls. At the apex there was yet another tall statue of the God that had until so very recently been the favourite. Illyria with great relish toppled it of its dais, then took its place, slowly surveying the entire room.

“This will do.” 

She tilted her head and stared unblinkingly at the priest. “Have your craftsmen carve a statue of my image. I will return and see that it is done in a satisfactory fashion.”

The priest bowed, praising her superior beauty in many ostentatious words. Illyria smiled coldly and cut him off.

“Now show me your treasures and holy items.”

There was the slightest hesitation, and her eyes flashed angrily. “I spared your sorry world from my wrath! Give me my due!”

Obviously unwilling, but having no choice, the priest showed the way to a side door - protected by heavily armed guards as well as spells, behind which was a small room packed with shelves and chests. 

Spike muttered a long curse, taking in the untold riches in front of them. It was a great shame that they couldn’t just pillage the whole place. There were some _very_ pretty things...

“D’you think I could nab a few necklaces for Buffy?” he asked, but Angel silently shook his head as Illyria stood still, concentrating so hard that the power made her shine brighter than the torches on the wall, giving everything a faint blue hue.

Sighing, Spike picked up a dagger, the blade gleaming ghostly white and the handle inlaid with some unknown substance that shimmered green and orange. “But just look at this - she’d love it. It’s like a handbag version of a knife. And I’ve still got to work out what to get her for Christmas. Troll heads are right out.”

He turned the dagger over admiringly, but Angel suddenly frowned. “Get her a collapsible sword. Wesley used to have one - they’re very handy. Of course we took out his old supplier last year, but I’m sure we can track someone down who still makes them.”

Spike looked up in surprise. Was Angel being actually, genuinely helpful? It was probably just a fluke...

“So... um... have you decided what to get Nina?” He almost added something about squeaky bones, but it would seem kinda petty after Angel being all decent - he’d just have to save it for another time. Because it had _potential..._

But Angel just smiled mysteriously. “Oh that’s all sorted.”

Before Spike could ask, however, Illyria shook her head. 

“All useless. There are only trinkets and baubles here.” Then her eyes narrowed and she strode across the room, before tearing down a tall elaborately embroidered wall hanging. 

The priest yelped, but Illyria smiled happily as she surveyed the featureless wall in front of her. 

“Strong... very strong... but it matters not!”

She fixed the wall with a hard stare and for just a fraction of a second the image of the god she so very recently de-throned flickered onto the stones. Then it transformed into three animals. 

Spike swore for the second time as he recognised the wolf, ram and hart. How had she known? They had not seen a hint of the Senior Partners anywhere. 

The priest was now wailing - something about how they’d all be killed and the Masters would not leave a stone standing... But Illyria ignored him completely as the image began bleeding together, until they showed Illyria in her original form.

Satisfied, she then proceeded to walk through the wall.

“What the-?” Angel was staring after her and then tried to follow, but the stones were just as hard and cold and solid as they looked.

***

On the other side, Illyria looked around with great pleasure. As she had thought, the spell protecting the most precious objects had been fashioned in such a way that only the rightful owner could enter. And that was now _her_.

The Wolf, Ram and Hart had been sneaky indeed. Just like in the realm of humans they were operating from underneath, and here they had let the population keep their religion - knowing that the god in question was safely locked away in the Deeper Well. The thought that someone like Illyria could ever come and challenge his position had obviously never entered their thoughts. And yet here she was...

Only much to her chagrin she could already sense that there was no key-fragment hidden here. But maybe there was something else...

Searching though the dusty shelves she found nothing to interest her, until she saw a small, faintly gleaming globe. Could it be? To find what she had given up looking for - a creature nearly as ancient as herself... 

Reverently she picked up the globe and carefully peered inside. And indeed there it was... a child of He Who Came Forth From the Earth. 

_Days_ she had spent in His ancient home world, trying to discover if any of His progeny remained that could help them on their Quest, whilst her vampires had complained and sulked and wished for such trivialities as nourishment.

And yet here, serendipitously, she had found what would truly aid them. The Key that she had absorbed could open portals, but in her current form she was muted, her power and vision stunted... and the worlds had moved and shifted while she had been sleeping in The Deeper Well. Besides, The Home Office was a problem. A Higher Realm out of her knowledge where they would have to go once The Dead Key was complete. 

But now they would be able to find it. 

Smiling at the true treasure in her hand, she blew on it gently before speaking the ancient words that unbound the Scarab. The globe popped, like a golden bubble - and the glistening beetle on her hand fluttered to life, looking stunned and unsettled. She knew how it felt - it must have been resting as long as her. And for the first time since she had risen, she felt kinship with another living thing.

***

Being stuck in a treasure chest, but unable to take anything, was very boring. The priest glared whenever Spike as much as looked at anything, and in the end he just sat down on the floor and examined his new little charm. It was made out of a metal that he wasn’t familiar with, and inlaid with the standard ‘good luck’ runes that obviously didn’t change much from dimension to dimension. And right on the edges of his perception he could feel a tiny buzz of magic, proving that it truly was enchanted. Whether it did anything other than buzz was of course a different question, but Illyria _had_ turned up just moments after he had got it...

Then finally Illyria reappeared, only without any Key fragment or treasure as far as they could tell. But her hand was closed in a fist, so she might have found something valuable after all.

Ignoring the vampires she turned to the priest who still looked shell shocked at how she’d penetrated the inner sanctum. But, clearly trying his best to please his new deity, he bowed.

“Your Highness, I hope you found something fitting for your stature?”

She nodded, but didn’t - as he had obviously hoped - elaborate. Instead she studied him silently, before speaking.

“You will build me statues and observe my Holy Days. One year from now I expect a grand tribute, worthy of my splendour. If you win my favour your nation will indeed prosper.”

The priest uttered a long and flowery confirmation, but Illyria silenced him with a wave of her hand. 

“I believe we are done. Vampires - are you ready?”

They looked at each other, then remembered. “Um... we got some armour, it’s still in our hut...”

“Very well. Fetch it. I will wait.”

***

Not much later, they were once again back in The Hyperion. Spike looked round at the familiar surroundings, feeling relieved and wishing nothing more than to get some food and then sleep for a week.

“So - what did you find?” Angel asked, and Illyria’s face started glowing with pleasure. Slowly she unfurled her hand and held it forth so they could see.

Spike looked, and he felt that of all the bizarre things she had done that day, this took the prize.

“It’s a beetle,” he said, superfluously, and shot Angel a disbelieving look. Angel was obviously trying to think of something more intelligent as he appeared to struggle with himself.

“A - a Scarab beetle... they’re supposed to bring good luck.”

“So’s this!” Spike replied, tugging at the charm around his neck, “But you won’t see any of these locked up in Swiss bank vaults!” He leaned forward and studied the thing more closely.

“Is it made of something rare and valuable or - bloody hell it’s _alive_!”

Illyria shot him a withering glance. “Of course it is alive. Beware your attitude half-breed, this is a child of Khepri - The Selfcreated One - and it is so far above you that you ought to fall down and pay homage!”

Spike’s eyes widened. “Did you just say that that thing is above me? It’s a bleedin’ _dung beetle_!”

Illyria’s eyes flashed dangerously. “This is the offspring of a God who once rolled suns across the sky. As different from its lowly namesakes in this world as I am from you!”

“So... what does it do?” Angel asked, and Illyria regarded him with a slightly less disapproving look.

“The children of Khepri possessed their Sire’s knowledge, if not His power, and were once greatly prized as guides for those travelling between worlds, knowing every realm and dimension and nether world there has ever been.”

Spike frowned. “So... it’s like an inter-dimensional sat-nav?”

Illyria’s eyes narrowed. “Your analogy is clumsy, but not incorrect.”

Angel however sat himself down on the central sofa, suddenly looking rather shrewd and with a glint in his eye. “So tell me Illyria - just how have we been steering so far? By whatever millennia old out-of-date map is in your head? We trusted you to lead us, and apparently it’s all been stabs in the dark.”

Illyria was bristling now. “I have found us a great aid, and you question me?”

“Like I would question any member of my team who’s not been entirely honest!”

They stared at each other silently, and Spike was rather amused by the fact that for once it wasn’t _him_ their anger was aimed at. 

Then a yawn overwhelmed him. “Look, I’m just gonna leave you two to it, okay? I’m too tired-”

But Illyria ignored him completely, coldly staring down Angel. “I have with great skill taken us from world to world, to every dimension the Wolf, Ram and Hart influenced back in the ancient times. Do not doubt me again!” 

Angel looked somewhat mollified, but as Spike turned to go a thought suddenly occurred to him.

“Hey - why did you wink?”

Illyria finally took notice of him.

“I am Illyria. I do not _wink_!” And she walked off, head held high.

Spike met Angel’s eyes and shook his head. No, they’d never understand her.

***

Half an hour later, after two cups of blood and a warm shower, Spike was sitting on his bed, naked except for a towel wrapped around his middle and the amulet around his neck, studying his cellphone. Buffy’s name and number were displayed on the screen, her voice only a push of a button away. But he put the cell down on the blanket in front of him, knowing that he needed to collect his thoughts a little more. Because there were new facts to take into consideration.

Illyria could tell time from _anywhere_. 

A slow smile crept over his face. He would be able to arrange to meet Buffy, could plan times and places, not just turn up unannounced... they could even spend Christmas together! Happiness spread through him, making him tingle all over. 

There was also of course the fact that Illyria was contactable... after a fashion. Not really something he needed to bother Buffy with, since he couldn’t see her attempting a ritual sacrifice, but it was certainly food for thought. Maybe he should have some new cards made? His old ones were woefully boring, and he had obviously been unable to put any contact details on them. Yes - that was a good idea. Something more... _interesting_. He grinned widely as he finally pressed the button and held the phone up to his ear.

On the roof Illyria smiled a not dissimilar smile. She now had two worlds who worshipped her - and a companion.

The wings of the tiny creature shimmered in the lights from the street below, as it softly landed on her outstretched palm. As beautiful and self contained as she herself. And - best of all - it didn’t talk.


	9. Chapter 9

“Kvennkyn ikki loyvd!”

The doorman/bouncer, easily 3 feet taller than Angel and with a grey-green scaly hide, stared impassively at Illyria, who suddenly began to bristle. 

“Sorry what was that?” Spike cut in, and the demon took in the two vampires.

“Oh, she’s with you? An’ you’re English-speakers? Sorry - thought she was a Huldra in some fancy threads, hence the language confusion. ‘Fraid she can’t come in - wimmin not allowed.”

Spike’s eyebrows went up a good inch, and he turned to look at Angel, who was equally thrown. 

Illyria tilted her head and looked at the demon with murder in her eyes.

“I am not a ‘woman’ - I am a _God_ , far beyond such simple concepts as male and female! Foolish imbecile, I will rip your spine out through your chest and feed your carcass to my worshippers!”

The demon leisurely let his eyes travel over her, and then shook his head again. “Sorry Princess. I’ve got rules to work with, and that religious bullshit won’t wash - I’ve seen enough nut-jobs settin’ up cults to last me three lifetimes.”

Seeing that Illyria was about to explode, Spike and Angel grabbed hold of an arm each, and pulled her back.

“Just need a moment with our lady!” Spike said to the bouncer, who nodded sagely. 

Illyria, furious, never took her eyes off her new mortal enemy. “How _dare_ you - heathen! I will tear you and every creature within limb from limb! I will raze this place to the ground! My armies-”

“Yeah your Highness, that’s not going to help, is it?” Spike replied when they were far away enough not to be overheard, and Illyria fumed at him. 

Angel sighed and shook his head. “I said this was a bad idea-” 

But Spike cut in. “No, sorry, this is a _good_ idea. We’ve been following her ideas - and yours - ever since we started, and we’ve got exactly nowhere in the last year. _This_ -” he waved a hand towards the bar stretched out behind them, “-will work! An’ if it doesn’t, at least we’ll have had a good time. And as for _you_ Miss Universe, we’re here to get _info_ , and we can’t get any of that if you’ve ripped everyone’s head off.”

Angel sighed again. Spike had a point... They had been to dimension upon dimension by now, and nowhere had they found more pieces of the Dead Key. Endless negotiations, ‘dead cert’ tips, witches, warlocks, ‘holy’ places... all useless. 

Fed up, Spike had suggested they search out this demon bar, famous throughout most of the places they’d been to - apparently the gathering place for all the worst riff-raff throughout the dimensions. Spike reckoned they could get someone to talk, since liquor tended to loosen the tongue, and, having run out of counter-arguments, Angel had agreed. Except now of course they had a different problem...

“Why does this place not allow females? Both sexes are equally revolting, but surely life-givers should be honoured in some way? And why does that worthless speck of muck think that _I_ am female?”

Spike bit his lip, and Angel tried to keep a straight face, thankfully succeeding - but only just. 

Illyria had surprised them both by her ingenious manner of transporting her scarab guide - she had braided a strand of her hair, and the beetle was stuck at the top end of the braid, looking like a small, fancy hair-clip of some sort. Only this ornament, combined with her delicate features and general shape, gave her an unmistakable air of not just being female, but _feminine_. 

“Well you _look_ like a bird, and, what’s more, you behave like one too! I’ve had this self-same argument with Buffy once,” Spike shot back. “Say - why don’t you skip off back home and google the suffragette movement and feminism? You can come back later and free the women here from the shackles of oppression before picking us up. How does that sound?”

Illyria of course ignored every word. “It is not permitted to judge me on my appearance. I did not choose this shell.”

Spike shrugged. “Yeah good luck with that - ‘fraid that’s how the world works. Shame for you that that Knox bloke wasn’t gay...”

Then abruptly he looked down as his words caught up with him. Angel couldn’t help wincing himself, as layer upon layer of familiar guilt settled over him. Illyria was so utterly unlike Fred that mostly it was easy to forget whose features she inhabited, but Spike’s words had yet again brought up the endless barrage of ‘what if’s’ that he usually tried to avoid thinking about. He sighed. 

“Illyria... it’s not like you’d enjoy it anyway. If I remember rightly you... don’t have much patience with drunken demons.”

She looked from one to the other, and then much to their surprise nodded, an unsettling look in her cold, blue eyes. Maybe she was thinking back to the few occasions when the two of them had been drunk - or maybe she was remembering Wesley?

“Very well.”

Then she abruptly turned on her heel and walked off.

Angel looked after her. “Well that went... better than I thought. Unless of course she’s actually gone off to get an army.”

He frowned, knowing that she was endlessly unpredictable, but Spike shrugged. “Let’s worry about that when the army turns up. Actually -” he chuckled, “we were lucky the doorman didn’t think she was a stripper...”

Angel nodded silently, easily being able to picture Illyria’s reaction to such an insinuation, and was grateful for small mercies. 

“Well - shall we?” Spike asked. “It looks like rain and I’d like to get inside!”

“Fine,” Angel replied, glumly raising his eyes up at the dark brown sky, in which murky, sticky-looking clouds hung low over the valley, as though trying to smother the decrepit town - if the collection of hovels, mud-huts and assorted dwellings could really be called ‘a town’. The bar, although filthy, ugly, and looking like it might collapse at any moment, seemed almost grand in comparison. 

A little later they were inside, and as the barman - a Karathmamanyuhg demon with odd hairy spots all over his face - got them their drinks, Spike looked around, and shook his head.

“What is it?” Angel asked, knowing well when Spike was dissatisfied with something.

“Dunno... Just thought...” Spike tilted his head and studied a group of particularly nasty-looking Ttakarashs’ in a corner, “Thought it be more like... Tortuga, and less like Willy’s.”

“Tortuga?” Angel asked, and Spike looked at him, raising an eyebrow. “Pirates of the Caribbean? Pirate hide-out with round the clock fighting and shagging?”

“Oh,” Angel replied. He remembered it now, and was personally grateful for the differences. Ignoring Spike he struck up a conversation with the barman and found out who’d be the best creatures to ask for advice when it came to treasure hunting of the ancient variety.

They were pointed towards a table populated with demons so aged Angel wondered if they were still alive, and hadn’t been mummified and left as a visitor attraction - The Prince of Lies would have felt right at home. Spike looked at them and tried not to pull a face. “Hoped that there might be some... well some _interestin’_ characters here, y’know? Somethin’ to give this place its reputation...”

Which confirmed to Angel that the other had been looking forward to a fun time, rather than information gathering. Well, such was life. 

“Probably just a slow day,” he said, and then made the appropriate excuses and offering of liquid gifts before settling down at the veterans’ table. 

And, just as Spike had predicted, soon enough they were regaled with tales from far and wide - some they’d heard of, but many they hadn’t. There was apparently a dragon somewhere on a hoard, all fairytale-like; and a treasure at the bottom of the sea in a dimension populated by vicious mermaids. A grizzly little gnome-like demon spoke of a ‘most trusted servant’ of the Senior Partners who kept all sort of secrets (although he might have retired by now), and a pale, speckly-red demon - who had lost most of his limbs and all but one eye - told them about a ‘cursed treasure’ guarded by an immortal warrior... 

After a long while one demon, black and wearing an old tunic, so worn and threadbare that it was impossible to tell what colour it had originally been, sat up and shook itself awake. Bright yellow eyes studied Angel, and then it spoke up, voice croaky and whispery.

“Oooooh now. If it is true treasure you’re after, there is only one place to go. Mind you, you need bravery and cunning more than anyone who yet has lived...” He raised a shaky arm and looked Angel straight in the eye. “Back when I was young, and my sword-arm strong, I was the shield carrier of Grohmul-Djun - you have heard of him, surely? The greatest warrior that ever breathed...”

Angel could see the faces around him sink into the tired, glassy look that always accompanied those who’ve heard a tale a thousand times, and sure enough the grizzly gnome-demon cut in.

“Quiet. These youngsters are more likely to kill the dragon of Qusth’thak than to return from the Labyrinth. Why no one-”

“I’ve killed a dragon,” Angel cut in. “Please, shield-carrier of Grohmul, continue.”

He could feel the respect go up a few notches, and the black demon tried to sit a little straighter.

“Back in the days of yore, when all the worlds sought out the Ramulka-ha, my master entered the Labyrinth of Ramulkl, as many before him, to find the treasures and forbidden items that are fabled to be contained within its centre. Oh I recall the day so clearly - we had come to the Citadel of the Ramulka-ha Clan - a mighty warlock breaking down the barriers between the worlds for the sake of my master’s quest - and spent a day amongst the brilliance of the shining city. Oh, you have never seen such a sight...”

There followed a long description of the town, and many praises of the skills of the Ramulka-ha clan, who had apparently been the one-stop-shop for luxuries in the ancient demon worlds.

With snail-like speed the demon finally got back to the tale of the Labyrinth. “Taller than the tallest tree, taller than the towers on Tlinkoos, the greatest thing I ever saw. My master released me from my servitude, but even so I waited for him for many days. But he never returned and in the end I found my way home to my own people...”

An ugly, lumpy brown demon, with three small, skittering eyes, sneered. “Your stories are useless. The home of the Ramulka-ha has been closed for years upon years, everyone knows that. My guess is that they finally had enough wealth and decided that they were too good for the rest of us. I too saw the great city in my youth, and recall the way they barely permitted anyone to look upon it, let alone walk in it. Proud and haughty every one of them, contemptuous of anyone who didn’t fawn over their precious baubles... And even before they decided to ‘retire’, the Champions who wished to enter the Labyrinth had to ‘negotiate’ with the clan before they were permitted to go through the hidden gateway, to ascertain if they were ‘worthy’ - mark my words it was their gold they were testing!”

Angel figured that the demon had wanted nothing more than to own such a ‘bauble’, and was wondering if there was a way to exploit this to get him to talk more, when there was a sudden commotion outside.

Spike, who’d been doing his best not to nod off, turned and tried to peer out of the little window that was nearly caked over with grime, and swore softly under his breath. 

“Holy _fuck_ it can’t be...”

Then his head snapped round as the new-comers entered, and his eyes followed them as though hypnotised as they walked up to the bar.

Suddenly a wide, excited grin spread across his face. “I _knew_ it! This bar is best bloody bar in the history of for _ever_!”

In a swift flourish he got up, but Angel’s quick hand on his arm held him back.

“Where do you think you’re going?”

Spike stared at him like he was an idiot. “Where do you think? I’m going to buy them a drink!”

“But-” 

Angel indicated the ancient story tellers with a small tilt of his head, but Spike just grinned. “You seem to be gettin’ on fine - don’t need me!”

Angel glared at him silently.

“Oh come on Angel - when will I ever get a chance like this again? I mean... I didn’t even know they were _real_!”

He turned again to take in the figures that were now leaning nonchalantly against the bar, as the barman effusively and submissively rushed to get their drinks, and Angel sighed. 

“Fine - but you _do_ know that you’re turning into Andrew, right?”

“Maybe Andrew is onto something... You have fun with your Ramulka-what’s-it chat,” Spike replied, not really listening anymore, as he untangled himself from Angel’s grip before sauntering up to the bar, face as excited and in awe as the night when he’d first seen what Angelus could do... 

Sighing Angel turned back to the antediluvian relics around the table, who were now busy talking about the way the younger generation were useless and never showed the proper respect to their elders, and part of him desperately wanted to just say ‘forget it’ and join Spike... but someone had to get some info, and _now_ , because he had a feeling Illyria would never grace the place with her presence again. Presuming she didn’t decide to smite it with some kind of hellfire.

When Angel carried Spike out many, many hours later - a boneless, inert body held together by his coat - Angel reflected grimly that it was lucky for whatever plans Buffy had for Christmas that Spike would have at least a day to sober up before he was due to meet her. Angel would even get ample time to torment him during the hangover from hell that would soon show up... Presuming of course that Illyria came back for them.

But when he looked around he saw her waiting, as calm and impassive as ever. Whether this was good or bad he wasn’t sure - mostly he was just relieved. 

She looked at Spike with barely concealed disgust, and didn’t say a word as she opened a portal to the Hyperion. Realising that they were in the lobby, Angel sighed and dumped Spike on the sofa in the office. _No_ way he was carrying him up all those stairs. 

But five minutes later Angel came back and threw a blanket over him. In the spirit of Christmas, or something.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The next few chapters will center on Angel & Spike's respective Christmasses. Am aiming to post a chapter a week.


	10. Christmas Angel

There were definitely upsides to inter-dimensional traveling, because, although it was barely past dawn, Angel wasn’t tired at all, and even the daylight scarcely bothered him - he was too focussed on what was happening around him. He didn’t think he’d ever experienced a real family Christmas since he had been human, and back then... well things had been different. _He_ had been different. As in, an idiot who couldn’t appreciate what he had.

Now, however, he understood how impossibly precious the idyll around him was, and soaked it all up to the full. Sitting on a sofa, with his arms around a beautiful young woman and watching her niece excitedly dole out presents, was stuff straight out of his day dreams. 

There were Christmas decorations all over the house, and a real tree, with fake candles, in the corner of the room, and the floor was rapidly disappearing beneath masses of wrapping paper. By carefully controlling his thoughts, Angel had also for the most part been able to avoid thinking about all the Christmases with Connor that he’d missed out on (he’d see him later in the week, and that was something to be grateful for), or the last few years with his friends. Live in the now, that was the key... 

He smiled as he saw Nina’s sister, Jill, attempting to control the chaos, just to have it all upset again when Jill’s daughter, Amanda, tried to find a small piece of a toy that had become lost. 

He himself had bought a calligraphy set for Amanda, and found a very beautiful gold bracelet for her mother in one of the nicer dimensions they’d been to. Both presents were happily received, and he promised to show Amanda how to write with a feather pen later on.

“OK then Mister,” Nina said, turning to him, looking especially beautiful in a wine red dress. “Where’s _my_ present?”

He smiled secretively and reached down by the side of the sofa, bringing out a small, round, prettily wrapped present, not much bigger than his hand. 

Excitedly she unwrapped, as her sister and niece watched, and then, to his great satisfaction, her jaw dropped as she slowly held up the grey stone she had uncovered. She turned her head, unable to speak, eyes full of questions. 

Amanda however quickly found her voice.

“Geez - you get my mom a real pretty bracelet, but you get your _girlfriend_ a rock? I know she said you didn’t have a lot of money anymore, but that’s just _sad_...”

Angel chuckled. “It’s... _special_!” 

Then he turned to Nina. “Smell it.”

Her eyes had narrowed. “Is this some kinda joke?”

He shook his head. “No. But see if you can place the smell...”

Frowning she took a tentative sniff, and then wrinkled her nose. “It smells... odd. Unfamiliar.”

She was still eyeing him skeptically, and then Amanda grabbed the stone and had a sniff too, before declaring that it didn’t smell like anything.

Finally he relented and explained: “It’s a moon rock.”

Nina’s eyebrows went up a good fraction. “A _moon_ rock? What do you mean?”

“I mean - it’s a rock from the moon!”

Automatically she turned her head and looked out the window, where a pale winter sun was just beginning to shine. 

Jill looked astonished. “But how...?”

Angel smiled a little. “I might not have a law firm anymore, but I still have... contacts. It’s absolutely genuine, despite the lack of documentation.”

_(Getting hold of divers boots in Illyria’s size hadn’t been easy, but thankfully she had kicked up less of a fuss than he’d imagined - obviously she had retained whatever part of Fred’s knowledge that dealt with gravity. She had however on her return declared the moon to be ‘dull and monotonous’.)_

Nina was now turning the stone over in her hands. “Wow... That’s... I don’t know what to say...”

“Don’t say anything,” he replied, planting a kiss on her cheek - the look on her face was more than he could have wished for. He couldn’t even remember when he’d first got the idea, but once he’d thought of it, he couldn’t get it out of his head. Getting her a piece of that which ruled her life - it just seemed fitting. And maybe one day it might help her explain her… _condition_ to her family.

Of course it wasn’t exactly something she could wear, and he pulled out the other present that had been hidden in his pocket. “I got you something pretty too.”

The happy excitement on her face was wonderful and made Angel full of warm, glowy feelings - he was sure that Tiny Tim himself would have felt right at home. The demon bar, and all the other unpleasantness he’d been through recently, felt like it belonged to another life... But he knew that he could easily carry on with that part, as long as _this_ was waiting for him at home.

***

Sadly, the peace didn’t last. At midday there was a knock on the door and Jill went to answer it, puzzled.

The voice that floated through into the sitting room was so unexpected - so shocking - that Angel got up and almost used vampire speed to get to the hallway. 

And there, as clear as day, stood Fred…

“Angel!” she exclaimed, looking flustered and apologetic and smiling enough to power a small town. “I am _so sorry_ to drop in like this - like I was just explaining to Jill here - but when I was gonna set off to my folks’ my car packed in, and there is _nowhere_ that’ll fix a car on Christmas Day, _trust_ me. So I thought instead I could stop by, just saying Merry Christmas and drop off a few presents? I hope I’m not intruding, I was just late buying gifts - as usual, I was rushing around on Christmas Eve before all the shops closed - and figured that at least this way you could get your presents on Christmas Day and not in a week’s time…”

Angel was speechless, but Jill was of course drawn in:

“You mean, you haven’t got anywhere to go?”

‘Fred’ dismissed her with a wave of her hand.

“Aw, don’t worry about it. I’ll dig somethin’ out of the freezer and power up the ol’ web camera and have a long distance Christmas. I’ll just have to hope dad hasn’t accidentally uninstalled somethin’ at their end. Again.”

She rolled her eyes, the action so perfectly _Fred_ that Angel wished he could reach out and touch her. Believe that she was real. He felt oddly winded, like he’d been kicked in the stomach, hard, and couldn’t breathe. (Ironic for a vampire, he knew, but it was the best description he could think of.)

“Don’t be stupid,” Jill said. “I’ve got plenty for one more. After all isn’t that what Christmas is all about?”

‘Fred’ allowed herself to be talked into staying, and walked through the house with a big wobbly pile of presents in her arms, refusing any help, chatting all the while. The act so perfect that only someone who knew who she really was could see through it.

When had she gotten so clever, so manipulative? Angel wondered. Did she pretend to be Fred often? She never divulged where she went during their ‘breaks’, he’d just presumed she went off to kill things, or be worshipped.

“So you work with Angel,” Jill said, looking speculative. “I’m sorry, but did we meet…?”

‘Fred’ smiled bashfully, depositing the prettily wrapped boxes on the coffee table. “It’s a while ago, and I think it was a little awkward…” She glanced at Nina, who looked as shell-shocked as Angel felt, but they never got further as Amanda interrupted.

“Is one of those for me?”

“Amanda!” Jill said sharply. “Christmas isn’t all about you. Please say hello to Fred - she works with Angel, but got stranded, so is going to have Christmas with us.”

“Hello Fred,” Amanda said dutifully, before wrinkling her nose. “That’s a funny name. Isn’t it, like, a boy’s name?”

‘Fred’ laughed, and then pulled out the biggest present.

“You’re absolutely right, I have a funny name. ‘Fred’ is short for ‘Winifred’, it’s quite old fashioned. And this one’s for you, sweetheart. Christmas is _definitely_ all about the children. ”

Amanda pounced on the present, delighted, as Angel watched helplessly, and ‘Fred’ distributed the other presents. What was going on? Why was she doing this? Was it some sort of experiment, did she want to experience human Christmas? 

When Jill went to see to the food, ordering Amanda to abandon her presents for two minutes to add another place setting to the table, Angel took his chance immediately.

“What the hell are you doing?” he asked in a low angry whisper, and ‘Fred’ tilted her head, Illyria studying him coldly out of Fred’s warm brown eyes. 

“You are compromising the safety of this family. If Wolfram & Hart attack now, you are vulnerable due to the sunshine. I have come to protect you.”

“Are you trying to suggest you _care_ about these people?” he asked, incredulous, and she almost sneered.

“You have feelings for them. They are your weak point and it is impossible that those we fight do not know this. If these people were to be kidnapped, our enemies would have leverage over you, jeopardising our mission. If they were to die, you would grieve, rendering you unfit for the work we have to do. I cannot allow it.”

Nina had joined them, face gone pale.

“But - you said that Willow did a spell, protecting us…”

“She did, you’re _fine_!” he replied tersely, glaring at Illyria. He knew it had been a risk coming here, rather than have Nina come to the Hyperion which is how they usually met, but _dammit_ , the spell was practically apocalypse proof…

“Besides, _your highness_ , Buffy has made sure the local Slayers keep a lookout. As well you know.”

‘Fred’s’ features had become immobile, her whole body frozen. He was used to Illyria’s stillness, but seeing it applied to Fred was unnerving on a whole new level.

“The quiet bothers me,” Illyria eventually said, tonelessly, almost as if speaking to herself. “They allow us to remain unharmed in this dimension. If I were hunting prey, I would not allow it respite. They are planning something. But if not here, then where?”

Angel had no reply, and then they were interrupted by Amanda returning, a napkin on her head, declaring herself to be a nun.

“Well gosh, aren’t you just the darnedest thing?” ‘Fred’ beamed, and Angel had to abandon his interrogation. Nina didn’t look happy either, and he wondered what he’d done to deserve this.

The answer was immediate, and didn’t help. He was trying. He’d just hoped he could have _one day…_

“Angel,” Nina said, when they were alone. “Are we _safe_?”

He pulled her into a hug, drawing strength from her youth, her quiet, steady courage, the fierceness that he could sense in the wolf embedded at her core. 

_‘Let me keep this’_ , he thought. _‘Powers above, just this.’_

“You are as safe as I can make you,” he eventually replied. “Is that enough?”

A beat; then she smiled, lopsidedly, and tried to make light of the situation, not quite succeeding.

“Well, it’ll have to be. I mean, for starters I’d need some anti-wolf medicine…” 

The meal was painfully uncomfortable. ‘Fred’ chatted happily, mostly with Jill, as Angel and Nina pretended to re-capture the Christmas spirit, yet found themselves smiling too much and saying too little. The festive decorations seemed to be mocking them, and the obligatory Santa hats that they all had to wear for the meal (family tradition!) added an extra touch of the surreal. 

The food was delicious (the meat very rare, and tasty), but Angel might as well have been eating ashes. Did Illyria understand even a fraction of the pain she was causing? Did she care? Because this could have been _real_. A Christmas meal with his girlfriend, her family, and his friend. If it hadn’t been for Knox… 

Realising that his cutlery was beginning to bend to his silent frustration he tried to pay attention to what was going on, laughing along to a story from ‘Fred’s’ student days. However, she then fixed him with those big eyes, smiling innocently and addressing him directly:

“Sorry, didn’t mean to monopolise the conversation. Angel, will you be seeing Connor? I could give you a lift once my car is up and running again…”

Angel froze, fork suspended in mid-air, speechless for the second time in two hours.

“Who’s Connor?” Jill asked, and Angel tried to speak, but found that his voice wasn’t working.

‘Fred’ tilted her head, puzzled, then contrite. “You haven’t told them? Oh, are you… Have I just gone and put my foot in it? Angel, I’m _so sorry_ , I had no idea they didn’t know-”

Forcing himself to speak, Angel smiled stiffly and answered Jill’s question:

“Connor is… my son.”

“He’s at Stanford!” ‘Fred’ interrupted, beaming once more, “Angel is very proud.”

A pause followed her words, as Jill slowly looked from Nina to Angel, and he knew exactly what she was thinking. So far he’d been very unspecific regarding how old he was, but knowing that he had a son who was basically Nina’s age was not a point in his favour.

“You… must have been very young when he was born,” Jill eventually observed, and Angel readily grasped onto the proffered olive branch, his mind working overtime to come up with a plausible story, whilst keeping the underlying truth in sight.

“It was… not easy,” he said slowly. “His mother died in childbirth, and I was… not able to look after him. He was adopted by a very kind couple who love him as their own. We only established contact this past year. But it’s… going well. He’s a good kid.”

He saw Jill relax, making it all fit into her world view; the accidental teenage pregnancy where everything went wrong, the man who now tried to amend for his past missteps, the story with the happy outcome. 

Idly he wondered how Spike was getting on in Rome - from what he’d heard, Spike, Buffy and Dawn would be spending Christmas with the local Watcher and his wife. Pettily, he half-wished that they, too, would have their peace interrupted by someone unexpected. 

Little did he know how accurate his wish turned out to be.


	11. The Ghost of Christmas Past

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And now three chapters about Buffy & Spike's Christmas... With guest stars! :)

It was odd just being a tourist, not continually looking for signs of a hostile presence, but Riley was beginning to enjoy it. And having Sam wearing dresses every day was an added bonus. After their last assignment they’d been given a whole month off over the Christmas holidays for a job well done, and Sam had insisted that they go somewhere different, pointing out that they always went home, and that travelling round Europe without being on duty was an opportunity to be grasped. Which was how they found themselves in Rome just before Christmas.

It was now the 23rd of December and a beautiful, clear evening. The sky had a hazy orange-y glow from the streetlights, obscuring the blackness and the stars. Riley and Sam were walking along hand in hand, stopping now and again to admire the architecture or to jump out of the way of a moped. Then the street opened out into a pretty square, lined with little cafés and half full of people, mostly teenagers meeting up before the night’s excursions. In the middle was a large ornate fountain with a wide rim, every inch of which was occupied by chatting people.

As they sauntered across, Sam suddenly squeezed Riley’s hand. “Honey look! That girl looks just like Buffy Summers!”

He turned his head the way she was pointing and saw a young, black-clad woman sitting on a bench on the other side of the square, who indeed bore a striking resemblance to Buffy. 

Curious, they changed their direction and soon an astonished Riley was certain that it was Buffy, or if not she had an undiscovered twin. Taking a good look at her, as they waited for a gaggle of scantily clad young girls to pass, he was pleasantly surprised at how different she looked from the last time he’d seen her. The strange insecurity and worry had vanished - she looked prettier and more self assured than he’d seen for a long time before he left...

Her hair was very blonde - as blonde as when he’d first met her - but it was flowing down onto her shoulders in wide, smooth waves, gleaming softly in the sheen from the street lights. She was all in black - a long leather coat splayed out over the bench where she was sitting, a low-cut v-neck top underneath along with tight-fitting leather pants, her feet and shins encased in black boots with heels that could no doubt stake a vampire. The only thing to alleviate all this blackness was a pendant around her neck which gleamed with a red fiery glow. But Riley’s eyes were drawn back to her face, no longer pale and drawn but with a beautiful honey-coloured tan, her eyes bright as she scanned the crowds, now and again looking up at the houses at the edges of the square, an expectant look on her face. 

Seeing her so obviously happy and content, Riley smiled to himself. He had often wondered what the fallout had been from his little lie, but he had told himself that if a lie was what it might take for her to realise her ‘mistake’ (as he called her thing with Spike) it was well worth it... and it wasn’t as if he could have made Spike’s name any blacker than it was already. He could still picture the scene far too clearly in his mind: The two figures on the stone slab; the vampire’s cock-sure-ness; Buffy’s shame. And suddenly the reason for all her changes had been abundantly clear; scattered pieces fitting together perfectly into an obvious conclusion. It had been an intuitive flash of inspiration to say that Spike was 'The Doctor'. And really, since Spike was in the guy’s pay, it wasn’t much of a stretch. Riley just hoped that Buffy had managed to break it off without the vampire retaliating. 

As the throng moved on, and Riley and Sam moved forward again, Buffy’s eyes fell on them. And for the tiniest fraction of a second a very odd look passed over her face - resentful, almost angry. But it vanished so quickly that Riley thought that he must have imagined it, as a wide smile lit up her face.

She jumped up off the bench and came over to them, the surprise on her face obvious. “Riley! Sam! What are you doing here?”

“We were going to ask you the same,” Riley answered, smiling back as a host of memories came flooding back - there had been a lot of good times, before it all went bad.

“I live here,” Buffy replied as though it was the most obvious thing in the world.

“You _live_ here?” Riley asked, surprised.

“Well Sunnydale became a big hole in the ground after the last apocalypse as you probably know, so after travelling a bit, Dawn and I settled here. Rebuilding the Council, training Slayers. That’s me - what about you?”

“We’re here on holiday,” Sam replied. “We got this extended leave and I thought it’d be nice to just be tourists for once.”

Buffy grinned. “Oh I know that feeling! But how are you guys? Still doing the military thing obviously - met any interesting demons?”

There followed a chat about their travels and adventures, until Sam remarked upon Buffy’s necklace. “Sorry, but that is a _gorgeous_ pendant - can I ask where you got it?”

Buffy smiled widely. “Oh it was a present from my boyfriend on our first date... I mean we’d known each other for ages, but never really been on a proper date, so he wanted to make it memorable...”

Her voice trailed off, clearly unable to convey the loveliness of the occasion.

“You have a new boyfriend? How wonderful!” Sam exclaimed happily. “Any chance we could meet him?” She stopped and put a hand to her mouth. “Oh I’m sorry - I’m always too curious.”

Buffy shook her head. “Hey no worries - he was supposed to have met me here half an hour ago, but as usual he’s late. He... does a lot of travelling so I don’t see as much of him as I’d like and he’s nearly always late.” She smiled wryly. “It’s been more than 2 weeks since he last visited, but I made him promise to show up for Christmas.” 

Riley had the strange impression that there was more to this than she let on, but he couldn’t quite put his finger on what it was. Before he could ask, there was a sudden flash in the sky, as though from lightning. Buffy’s head snapped up, scanning the surroundings. Then her face lit up in a wide smile, causing Riley to automatically turn his head to see what she saw. And froze.

On top of a building at the opposite side of the piazza there was a black shadow outlined against the night sky. He only saw it for a second, then the figure leapt off the tall building - not in a suicidal tumble, but precisely and carefully like a cat, obviously intending to land with both feet on the ground, rather than in a heap of broken bones, which would be the usual outcome from such a fall... the coat billowed out and then the figure was hidden by a group of people. 

Riley blinked, unable to make what he had seen fit in with what he knew. It had looked just like - but it couldn’t be - only the jump... he turned back to Buffy, just as she skimmed past Sam, saying something about having ‘promised to meet him by the fountain’. Rooted on the spot, he didn’t move until Sam poked him. Then he slowly turned around all the way, just in time to see a sight he had never thought possible.

Through the glittering spray of the water, he saw someone who could only be Spike weaving through the crowds. And then Buffy - smiling from ear to ear - jumped into his embrace, flinging her arms around his shoulders as she kissed him. A very thorough, deep kiss... and she was obviously not in the least worried about who could see them.

His mind having given up on understanding what was happening, Riley almost didn’t hear Sam sighing. After a moment he abruptly came to. “Did you say something?”

She smiled. “Aren’t they cute? I mean look at them - even their outfits match.”

He nodded mutely, unable to express his horror. He wanted to explain to her that it was a vampire Buffy was kissing so enthusiastically, that he was bad news in every possible way, but he didn’t know where to start. Then he saw the couple part and Buffy explain something to Spike. His head turned and he looked at Riley, a most unpleasant expression on his face, but then it became completely blank and he nodded to whatever Buffy was saying. Taking his hand, Buffy led the way round the fountain up to Sam and Riley. She smiled - slightly nervously - but focussing on Sam she said: 

“Sam, meet my boyfriend Spike. Spike, this is Sam, Riley’s wife.”

Spike held out his hand with a wide grin on his face and shook Sam’s hand enthusiastically. “I’ve never met you before, but I can say with absolute certainty that he doesn’t deserve you!”

Buffy said: “ _Spike!_ ” and shot him a look, but Sam laughed. “Oh Riley doesn’t mind. Do you darling?” she asked, smiling at him.

Spike, studying Riley’s closed face, answered. “You know I think he does. Sorry about that Cap’n, but based on past experiences etcetera...”

Sam looked from one to the other. “OK, there is obviously some kind of history here that I’m not familiar with.”

Riley finally found his voice again. “It’s a long story Sam, one that you might not want to hear.” Looking at Spike, he couldn’t help asking. “So, what do you do for a living now Spike? I guess you’ve changed professions since last - although I hope the diet’s the same.”

Spike’s eyes twinkled in amusement, making Riley rather nervous. What was going on? Why was Buffy _dating_ him? Was it a thrall? Then Spike reached inside his coat and brought out - a wallet! An expensive looking one too. Carefully going through it, he finally pulled out what appeared to be a business card. He held it out with a grin: “This should explain most of it - I just had a new lot made. A... _special_ edition.”

Riley took the card cautiously, wondering what it could be. The one thing he was certain of was that Spike wasn’t a business man. 

All it said on the card was _‘Angel's Avengers’_. Riley blinked, feeling more out of his depth every second. 

“Oh - turn it round!” Spike said helpfully, and Riley obeyed. As he slowly read the card aloud, Riley’s eyebrows felt like disappearing over the top of his head... because Spike had obviously gone completely insane. This is what he read:

**SPIKE**  
Full-time Champion and  
Saviour of the World.

If you wish to contact Spike  
make a suitable offering to Illyria,  
God-King of the Primordium.  
Alternatively contact Buffy Summers,  
The Watcher’s Council, Rome. 

Snorting derisively he looked at Spike. “What, no solid gold palace and rocket-car?” he asked. The guy was unbelievable! Or possibly crazy.

Spike however wasn’t listening - he was looking at Buffy, who was eyeing him coolly with ‘ _You’re SO full of bull-shit_ ’ written all over her face. Only she chose the strangest bit to focus on. “A suitable offering?” she asked archly and Spike shrugged. “Well, like a goat say - anything smaller she’ll just smite you for being irreverent.”

“A goat and she’ll turn up?” Buffy still looked skeptical.

“If you do the sacrifice properly, yeah.” 

Spike appeared not to be joking, but Riley could tell that Buffy wasn’t convinced. What she wasn’t convinced of he didn't know. What the hell was a god-king of the primordium? 

“Since when?” Buffy asked and Spike suddenly frowned. “Oh - I never told you about that whole thing! A few weeks ago we were in the middle of this big fight, right, and all of a sudden Illyria did this bloody big scary grin, opened a portal and disappeared, leaving us high and dry. Thankfully our opponents thought she’d gone to get some back-up and we made a truce, but we didn’t see her again for three days. When she finally turned up she was..." he stopped, and appeared to consider his next words carefully. "Let's just say that she was over the moon. She had loads of skull necklaces round her neck and some kind of wreath on her head. Turns out there’s some dimension where she’s still worshipped and they were having their grand yearly tribute. And what with being a god and all she could somehow sense it... rather nifty if you ask me!”

Sam looked as baffled as Riley felt. “Sorry, but I don’t understand what you’re talking about - at all.”

Suppressing his urge to walk away, Riley looked at Buffy, talking before she could answer, desperately needing to find out what the deal was, before the conversation was completely side-tracked: “I hope there’s a very good explanation for all this. How can you be with him still, knowing what he is?”

Looking uncomfortable - or possibly angry, Riley wasn’t sure which - Buffy took a deep breath. “Riley - he’s different! Every word on that card is true. He got his soul back and then he died saving the world. Now he and Angel are fighting in this apocalypse that’s gonna take like a millennium. Yes he’s still a vampire, but he’s on the side of good now. So trust me, _everything_ is different to the last time we met.”

Sam said, “He’s a vampire?”, but before anyone could explain, there was a loud yell: “Buuuuuffy - where aaaaaare you?”

Rolling her eyes, Buffy looked around, then jumped up and down and waved. “I’m over here!”

Moments later yet another gaggle of teenage girls arrived. This lot was slightly more sensibly dressed, and it was only after a few moments that Riley noticed that their bags looked awfully pointy and that a couple of them had stakes in their hands. With them was a tall and slightly gangly man who looked to be in his mid-thirties, whose air of intellectual superiority was slightly undermined by the colourful, knitted jumper he wore over his shirt, the words ‘Everything stops for a cup of tea’ standing out in crimson red.

Smiling proudly Buffy introduced the newcomers: “Riley - Sam, these are my Slayers...” but as soon as the girls saw Spike, they ignored everyone else and gathered round him, bombarding him with questions: 

“Spike! How long are you staying for?” “Is Angel coming too?” “Can you train with us again?” “Have you been to any cool dimensions?”

Looking somewhere between pained and flattered Spike attempted to answer the various questions, until Buffy called out: “Girls! Stop!”

The chatter died out and the group turned round to face Buffy who looked at them sternly. “Now - let Spike be. He’s only come for Christmas, _but_ if there’s time he might drop by and say hello. And, um, this here is my old boyfriend Riley who’s in a special demon killing branch of the army and his wife Sam. Riley, Sam - these are my Slayers. Oh - and this is Johnson who’s the resident Watcher.”

Johnson came forward and eagerly shook their hands. “A pleasure to meet you both! I have heard of you from Buffy of course, and about the type of work you do, and I would be very interested in such matters as kevlar armour...”

Riley countered his questions with one about how come there were suddenly this many slayers, and only vaguely noticed Buffy swiftly sending the girls to wherever they were going in twos and threes. As Johnson's tale came to a close, the only two left were Buffy and Spike. 

Trying to digest all the information he’d received (including confirmation that Spike _had_ indeed saved the world, which was such a curve ball that it would probably take years to sink in) he made no effort to stop Buffy as she said she had to go - apparently they were making the town as safe as could be before Christmas. She and Sam exchanged phone numbers and agreed to talk soon. Spike then asked: “So what’s our job - you seem to have sent the girls to all the hot spots.”

Buffy smiled a very mischievous smile: “Oh - we’re intimidation!”

Spike raised an eyebrow. “Is that so? Well it would explain the outfit.” 

He waved an appreciative hand at her black leather costume.

“Yeah - gonna go round all the dives and explain that if any of them feel like having some kind of ritual sacrifice over the holidays, they’ll have us to deal with.”

“Sounds perfect,” he purred. 

“See? A nice night out _and_ entertainment.” She smiled again, then turned back to Sam and Riley. “See you around guys - call me after Christmas and we can meet up, ‘K?”

And with Spike’s arm around her waist, the two of them walked off. Riley looked after them for a long time, trying to get his thoughts in order. Having your past jump out at you without warning was a bit of a shock. Thankfully Sam was chatting away with Johnson, giving Riley some time to reflect. Thinking it all over, the thing that stood out was how very carefully they’d all avoided mentioning the last time they met - and he still couldn’t work out why Buffy was with the vampire. Unless... he absentmindedly passed his fingers over the bite marks on his neck. Would a vampire - even a souled one - be able to say no to Slayer-blood on tap? And why had she wanted the chip out? Had it been before or after the soul? If only he didn’t remember that whole Dracula incident so clearly, not to mention other things... 

He shook his head, trying to dispel the worryingly vivid recollections of sharp fangs sinking into his skin in a wondrous mixture of pain and pleasure... He was absolutely NOT going to dwell on that particular chapter of his life. It was long gone - long, long gone! 

_Deep breath, concentrate on the conversation._

What was that Johnson had just said about his wife being pregnant? Riley put his arm around Sam and gave her a little squeeze, thinking that maybe in a few years time they should retire from active demon fighting...


	12. The Ghost of Christmas Present

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is pretty much pure fluff. Hopefully fluff that you like, but I promise that next week will bring something much more substantial.

By far the best Christmas, Buffy decided, was one she didn’t have to arrange herself. Not that it would ever be quite right without Mom, but this year was already way ahead of all the others. She snuggled deeper into Spike’s embrace and let the conversation wrap around her like a warm blanket. They were in Johnson’s cosy flat, having just finished a wonderful and very English Christmas dinner, complete with flaming pudding, and there was now a good natured argument going on over what they should watch. Spike and Johnson for some bizarre reason wanted to watch ‘The Great Escape’ which apparently was another one of those mystifying British traditions. Dawn wanted a comedy and was enthusiastically backed up by Kristina, the only Slayer to have stayed in Rome since her whole family had been killed by Bringers.

Johnson looked at his wife pleadingly: “Sarah - please explain to these dear young things that it is quite simply not a proper Christmas unless one watches ‘The Great Escape’. I despair of them - they need to be inspired by this heroic tale, and all they care about is some pretty boy movie star and his tepid tale of comical woes in the pursuit of so-called love!”

Sarah, whose dark curly hair somehow accentuated her cheerful face, contemplated the wine bottle on the table. “You don’t think the baby would be harmed if I drank just a little, do you? And in answer to your question, I honestly couldn’t care less, especially since you are channelling Lady Bracknell again. A comedy sounds fine to me. ”

This caused Spike to enter the conversation again. “But patriotism is important!”

“Says the vampire,” Dawn said, raising a quizzical eyebrow.

“Says the _British_ vampire,” Spike corrected. “I’ll have you know I did my bit in the war-effort, eating as many German soldiers as I could find - I’d have got a medal for sure if I wasn’t dead! And um... was in the army.” He frowned slightly, worried that this might not have been the best thing to say, but Sarah burst out laughing.

“ _Spike!_ What are you like? God, you’ll be the end of me... “ 

Spike smirked, and Buffy thought to herself that it would be impossible to find better people to spend Christmas with. She missed her friends of course, but there was no way things would have been as relaxed as this if everyone had come. Apart from Dawn, these people only knew Spike as ‘the big hero’ and had just accepted him - much like the Scoobies had accepted Angel to begin with. 

Sarah, who had only recently moved to Rome after commuting back-and-forth for half a year after Johnson’s appointment, found Spike wonderfully fascinating. A ‘Watcher born and bred’ ( _“My dad used flash cards from when I was tiny, which is why I have such a good knowledge of demons - I could tell the difference between a Rishmon and an Arumah-ka age 4 just from the horns,”_ ), she loved his perspective on various incidents, but what separated her from any other Watcher Buffy had ever met was her wonderful sense of humour and irreverence ( _“Dad always wanted me to do well - I think he had some crazy idea of beating the Wyndham-Pryces - but sadly I am hopeless at languages and then I discovered boys when I was fifteen, so only just scraped through college. I did excel at kissing though!”_ ) and Buffy fervently hoped that she and Johnson would stay in Rome for years to come - although the baby might complicate things.

The arguments having finally been settled when everyone agreed to watch ‘Return of the King’, she cautiously asked Sarah what their plans were now - did she want to return to England when the baby arrived?

“We were actually just discussing this earlier on, before we argued over how long the turkey should cook,” she replied and Johnson tore his eyes off the screen for a moment to join in. “I still think it was under-cooked dear - one has to be careful with birds.”

“I liked it!” Spike chimed in. “And I’m an expert on birds.” He gave Buffy a little squeeze and she giggled.

Johnson however looked at his wife pointedly. “See?”

“Oh shut up,” Sarah retaliated. “It was fine. And I got my information from my mother who has never been wrong on a cooking-related matter since she baked her first sponge cake aged 7.”

“Really? She was 7?” Buffy asked, thinking that this was rather young to let someone near an oven.

“Well granny helped of course, but honestly my mother is one of these scarily perfect housewives and I think you have to be born that way. She’ll have the house spick and span by 10.30 on a morning and then spend the rest of the day knitting and baking and sorting out the hundreds of organisations she’s a member of. Actually the knitting is the only thing I was ever any good at.” 

She pointed proudly at her husband’s festive jumper and then stopped and tilted her head with a frown. “What on earth did you ask me about?” 

Before Buffy could answer, she remembered herself. “Oh yes - if we were ‘going home’ so to speak. I _think_ ,” she cast a speculative glance at Johnson, “That we decided to stay here. It’s fairly easy to travel between here and England - as well I know - and if we went back my mother would not be able to stop herself from interfering _all the time_! Not that I know the first thing about babies mind you, so I guess I’ll just have to make it up as I go along.” 

She chuckled, then her face suddenly turned sombre. “You’ll make sure he doesn’t do anything stupid, won’t you?” she asked Buffy. “I know that the risks are not as big as they used to be for active Watchers, what with all the new slayers, but I do worry - it just takes a demon to flick its wrist to make mincemeat of someone. I’m still not sure that ordinary humans should be involved in the fighting side of the business at all. Especially those who like to practically walk into the lion’s mouth.”

Buffy reassured her as much as she could, knowing that Johnson had a thing for wanting to try out new weapons for himself in the field. Noticing that Spike had become unusually quiet, she asked him what the matter was. 

“’S nothing pet.” He said, planting a kiss on her forehead. “Just got to thinking about... something.”

She didn’t feel like prying, since she could tell that he wasn’t going to spill easily. And she'd vetoed any talk about his and Angel's travels. Instead she leaned back against her vampire cushion and tried to focus on the movie. Another fight scene began and she glanced up at Spike. “Y’know, this really makes me want to try out my present!” 

“Does it now?” he replied. “You’re going to have to get it off your Watcher first.” 

She laughed, since her fabulous collapsible sword was still nestled in Johnson’s lap and she’d probably have to threaten him with violence to get it back. 

Sarah shook her head. “I still can’t believe that I fell for a weapon’s geek.”

Kristina, who had appeared completely absorbed in the movie, turned around. “Are there any Watchers who don’t love weapons? Well apart from you Sarah?”

“And books!” Dawn added, “Don’t forget books - if you don’t love books with all your heart you can’t become a Watcher. It’s in their secret oath!”

Sarah laughed again. “I really hope this baby is a girl, because I’ll bring her up to love pink frilly things and despise all this fighting business.”

“Hear, hear!” Dawn cheered before turning back to the TV. “Oh - this is one of my favourite bits - Faramir is just _so_ hot!”

Buffy sighed happily. This year’s Christmas was very, very good indeed.


	13. The Ghost of Christmas Future

‘Smile and the world smiles back’. That was a saying, right? And in some ways it worked, because Riley smiled and people smiled back. He smiled at Sam and she positively beamed back; the sun that kept him orbiting, even when he felt like spinning off into the void.

Christmas had been and gone and Sam had enjoyed it all to the full - even going to midnight mass at St Peter’s; a fact he’d better keep hidden from his grandma forever or she’d probably disown him. Demons would be an easier subject than the Catholic Church. But much as he tried to pretend, that wasn’t what had unsettled him. No, it was what he called ‘The Sunnydale Factor’, the embodiment of which was Buffy - golden haired, mysterious Buffy, whom he had once thought the love of his life. Although looking back, what had his life been then? He’d lost his mission, even lost himself to some degree. And he had clung to Buffy so fiercely, hoping against hope that one day she might need him; might love him; might be someone he could understand. Having ‘The Sunnydale Factor’ thrown into his life now was unsettling to say the least. He didn’t like chaos, didn’t cope well when the rules kept changing. And he _really_ didn’t want to dwell on all the... _things_ that had happened back then.

All he wanted to do was to enjoy this evening, sitting on this bench with an arm around his wife and the promise of an exciting mission starting in a few days. So it was a rude shock when out of the blue a very real bleached blond vampire appeared in front of them.

“Good evening,” the vampire smiled, as though they were all the best of friends. 

Before either could reply, he continued swiftly: “Sorry to be rude, but I’m afraid I need to borrow your husband for a little while Sam. I’m in a bit of a rush or I’d love to have a chat.”

Slightly bewildered, but friendly, Sam replied. “Sure - Riley, I think I’ll go browse in that little boutique just around the corner - you can come and dig me out when you two are done.”

Riley wondered why he didn’t just say no, but instead he nodded, gave Sam a kiss and watched her walk off down the street. Leaving him alone with Spike... 

Slowly he turned his head to take in Buffy’s ‘New Boyfriend’. No - he still didn’t get it. But then had he ever really understood her?

Without a word Spike started walking. Puzzled, but loath to start an argument already, Riley followed. After a short while they were in the back streets, the darkness more prevalent and making Riley tense, scanning the surroundings for possible danger.

A moment later Spike stopped and looked around. “This seems quiet enough,” he said, and jumped up on a dumpster, then searched through his pockets for a cigarette and lighter. Riley watched him carefully light up, the flame highlighting his chiselled features, before turning to look at the human. “Want a seat?”

Riley shook his head mutely. What was going on? Was it a trap? But Spike had a soul, so surely that meant he didn’t hurt people... although that hadn’t stopped Angel that time. He tightened his grip on the stake in his pocket, but Spike caught the tiny motion and chuckled.

“Oh _please_ \- don’t insult both of us by even pretending that you could take me on.”

Riley gritted his teeth and replied tersely: “I’ve killed a helluva lot of demons these last few years Spike-” but Spike cut him off with an authoritative wave of his hand.

“Listen boy, I killed my first Slayer before your grandfather was even born. I could break your neck before that thing was out of your pocket, understood? But..." a resigned sigh, "I didn’t bring you here for a fight, so just calm down.”

Riley took a deep breath and nearly turned to walk away, but then curiosity got the better of him. 

“So - what do you want Spike?”

The vampire smiled one of those infuriatingly smug smiles, and then said the last thing Riley could ever have imagined:

“I wanted to thank you!”

He knew that he probably looked like a complete idiot, but Riley couldn’t help his jaw from dropping. 

“You... wanted to _thank_ me?” Even if he had wanted to, he couldn’t have kept the sarcasm out of his voice. “What for?”

“The chip.” 

“Very funny Spike. Care to tell me when exactly you went insane?” 

Spike chuckled. “Oh I’m not saying I liked it - or that it was fun having migraines from hell every time I looked at someone the wrong way. Or that I enjoyed it when it nearly blew up my head. But overall - looking back, right, seeing what happened because of it - it was a good thing. For a start, me and Buffy bein’ together wouldn’t ever have happened otherwise. Probably would have killed each other sooner or later. So, yeah, I felt like thanking someone. And since I only have a choice between The Initiative and The-Powers-That-Screw, you got to be a substitute for Maggie Walsh and her bunch of crazy doctors.”

Seeing that Riley was speechless, the vampire continued. “Now seein’ as I’m such a forgiving and caring sort of fella, I figured that one good turn deserves another, so I’m gonna try to do you a favour in return.”

Riley shook his head. This was ridiculous. He had no idea what Spike was playing at, and he really didn’t care. 

“You know what Spike? I think I’m just going to take off. It was...” he almost said ‘nice to see you’, but that would be such a gratuitous lie that he’d just make the vampire burst out laughing. As he was trying to come up with a suitable farewell, Spike took a long drag of his cigarette, then asked leisurely: 

“Tell me before you go - what was her name?”

OK, now the guy was being surreal. “What? Who?”

“The first vampire who bit you - what was her name?”

And although Riley had been certain that any such detail had been long since forgotten, he answered without thinking: “Sandy.”

Spike slowly nodded. “Look anything like Olivia Newton John?”

Riley shook his head and, for reasons that escaped him, felt compelled to explain. “No - quite petite and pretty with light brown hair. She was -” 

He managed to stop himself before he started relating the whole sorry story. 

But Spike pressed on. “Where did you meet her?”

“Willy’s,” he answered curtly, slowly backing away. _Why the hell am I still here?_

Spike’s face turned thoughtful, then suddenly he smiled a little. “Yeah - I remember her. Never really got over being turned that one...” he stopped and shot Riley a dark look. “I suppose you staked her?”

Riley nodded, but before he could turn around and walk away, Spike started talking again. Softly, almost like he was talking to himself, and Riley found himself spellbound. Spike’s voice had become strangely soothing, as though reciting poetry or recalling long-gone memories...

“That first bite... funny how all the pain suddenly stops after a few seconds. It’s like everything crystallises and you know that this is... _it_. And you think _‘I’m going to die!’_ and part of you just doesn’t care.”

Spike’s eyes were staring into the distance, lost to this world. There was a small smile on his lips as he continued, his words causing darkness to creep into Riley’s head one little step at a time.

“There is such a pull to the other side, like the sea draggin’ you down. That incredible rush of standing on the edge and looking into the abyss. Never knowing if _this time_ maybe you’ll fall...”

Riley hadn’t even registered that Spike had jumped off his seat. The vampire was standing in front of him, eyes shining in the dull light and speaking words that Riley had never been able to formulate. He could feel his heart beating wildly, but seemed unable to move, as though he had grown roots through the pavement. And Spike kept talking...

“To be so wanted... needed... to know that something stronger than mere feelings are at work. Because you are _life_ to a vampire - it cannot exist without you. What runs through your veins in the most important thing in their existence...”

Spike slowly reached out and almost touched Riley’s neck. “Riiight here is the spot. Mmm - little Sandy had good aim.”

Part of Riley was panicking wildly. What was happening? Why was he letting Spike so close? 

_It’s a thrall! It must be a thrall! There is no other explanation!_

The vampire’s eyes suddenly shifted to bright amber and Riley tried to swallow, but his mouth had gone dry. He closed his eyes, waiting, wondering why he wasn’t running - only the anticipated move towards his neck never came. 

Instead Spike stepped back abruptly, a leer on his face. “Shame of course for both of us that I wouldn’t touch you, even if you were the last person in this dimension or any other.”

As if suffering from vertigo, Riley swayed slightly on his feet. He stared at Spike, the last few moments replaying themselves as he gripped onto the stake tightly again. His mind was racing, and watching the vampire silently saunter back to his former seat and dig out another smoke, he was unable to hold back the accusation on his lips: 

“You did a thrall!”

Spike stopped trying to light his cigarette and laughed. “I _knew_ you’d say that! So bloody predictable little farm boy. But no - that wasn’t a thrall. I believe the technical term is a mind fuck.” 

Seeing Riley’s stunned face, he chuckled to himself. “Although you could say that I activated your chip - well sort of. You could have snapped out of it if you’d wanted.” 

Then he looked up, eyes shrewd and calculating. “But you didn’t, did you? I could have drained you dry and your last words would probably have been ‘thank you’.”

Riley frowned. Surely the vampire was lying...

But Spike wasn’t finished. Gesturing with his free hand, he began explaining in earnest. “See _you_ , Mr Finn, have what is called ‘an addiction’. Some people drink, some gamble, some put needles in themselves - _you_ like to dance with death! And all these things are _dangerous_. Especially when you don’t deal with the problem, but just stick your tail between your legs and run away.”

He stopped for a moment to concentrate on his cigarette and Riley found himself asking. 

“But... how did you...?”

Spike took a deep satisfied drag and smiled smugly. “Ah! Now that was a little trick I learned from my grandsire. You might have heard that Angelus is the worst vampire on record. Now he isn’t as famous as Dracula or as old as The Prince of Lies was - and I’m sure The Master must have killed more people. Hell, _I’ve_ probably killed more! But what Angelus did better than anyone else was destroy individuals. Screw with their heads until there was nothing left. Now me, I just like killing stuff, but that don’t mean that I can’t step into his shoes now and again. And _you_ , my dear Commander Finn, were easy as pie! Problem is, one day a vamp will come along who’s not as thick as most of them and he’ll work you out too - and before you know it, you’ll be someone’s lunch.”

He sighed, and flicked the half-dead fag end away. “None of this really bothers me, except your wife seems like a very nice lady indeed, and she deserves better than some spineless junkie for a husband. Also Buffy used to have a thing for you. And, having walked much further than a bloody mile in your shoes... hm, more like crawling across broken glass actually - I might have found just the tiniest little dreg of sympathy for you.”

Riley silently shook his head. What the hell did Spike think he was doing?

Before he could say anything, Spike continued. “But to get back to the main point, consider this - what if I’d been soulless still and killed you? Or maybe turned you? Because if that happened it’s very likely that your dear wife would meet her death at _your_ hands...”

Shocked, Riley didn’t know what to say, when a loud bleeping interrupted them. Swearing Spike pulled out a cellphone and answered, only to have whoever was on the other end yell so loudly that even Riley could hear. _“Spike! Where are you? I told you to be on time!”_

Looking only vaguely concerned, Spike shrugged. “Hunh - didn’t realise it was that late. Have been a bit busy - I’ll head your way now.”

Then he frowned and listened, before sighing. “Fine - come and pick me up then! I’m...” He looked around, obviously trying to find a good way of explaining their whereabouts, when he half-smiled. “Hey, this is the alley where we killed that redhead prostitute in ‘94.”... “That’s it! See you in a minute.” 

“You were here in ‘94?” Riley asked, latching onto the end of the conversation. 

Spike smiled a little. “ _Eighteen_ -ninety four young padawan. But as I was saying - your wife deserves kiddies and one day grandchildren and you’d better be there for her, OK? So - sort yourself out and get some help. I might just come and check up on you in 50 years' time.”

There was a sudden strange crackle and Riley turned his head to see a portal open up in mid-air at the end of the alley. His eyes opened wide as he saw Angel step out, followed by an odd blueish creature, all dressed in leather. 

Angel looked pissed off and opened his mouth to say something, but then caught sight of Riley and faltered. Looking from him to Spike he frowned. “What’s going on?”

Spike shrugged. “Nothing much, I was just doing him a favour, since I owed him one... where are we going again?”

“To negotiate with the Ramulka-ha clan! Did someone extract your brain over Christmas?”

“Make haste, your insolence and tardiness is wearying,” the strange humanoid demon said and with a flick of her wrist opened another portal. Riley stared, remembering the card with ‘Illy-something, God-King of the Primordium.’ Could it really be true?

The odd companions stepped through one after the other, Spike being the last one. Mid-step he suddenly froze and looked over his shoulder. 

“Ah what the hell,” he said, then before Riley had time to blink the vampire was in front of him.

“ _This_ ,” Spike carefully explained, “is for staking me, blowing up my home and all the other crap.” 

And his fist flashed forward, connecting with Riley’s nose in a painful crunch. 

His hand over his nose, Riley almost cried out loud, when he caught the very grim look that suddenly came over Spike’s face. 

“And _this_ is for leaving Buffy high and dry when she needed all the help she could get!” 

Spike’s fist connected with Riley again, but this time the punch landed on his chin and sent him flying backwards, hitting the wall. 

When Riley managed to see through the pain, the vampire had vanished, the only proof that he hadn’t been a figment of Riley’s imagination the cigarette butts on the ground. He slowly got up in the darkened alley and tried to stop the bleeding from his nose, but he couldn’t help thinking. Maybe... maybe Spike was right? Carefully he passed his fingers over the bite mark on his neck and could almost feel that invisible pull again...

A little later he caught up with Sam, now deeply embedded in the boutique and with an ever growing pile of pretty ornaments. “Look honey - I know we have too much baggage already, but aren’t these just the most incredible candlesticks?”

He was silent for so long, that she stopped her browsing and eventually looked up. “What’s wrong? You look...” Her eyes widened, as she took in his face properly. “Oh my god, Riley - what happened to your nose?”

He took her hands, then asked her slowly, “Sam - do you love me? No matter what?”

“Of course,” she answered, her face beginning to look troubled.

“I... I need to tell you something. About my past - about Sunnydale.”


	14. Chapter 14

Waiting for Spike to turn up at their chosen meeting place, Angel tried to evaluate Christmas…

Christmas Day had been lovely until ‘Fred’ appeared, and her strange paranoia had unfortunately been rather infectious. He’d found himself unable to relax after that.

But even so it had been good to see Connor - and not just because Connor was a complete counterpoint to everything else that Christmas.

He’d told Connor about Illyria’s Christmas Day stunt, and how he’d had to divulge Connor’s existence to Nina and her family. 

Connor had stared at him, then laughed.

“My ‘real’ parents were teenagers and I was adopted by a kind couple? That’ll be an interesting one to explain to my folks if they ever all meet…”

“Look, I had to make something up on the spot, I-“

“It’s _fine_ ,” he said, eyes still full of mirth, and Angel sighed.

“Look, she wasn’t just being difficult for the sake of it… She’s worried Wolfram and Hart will attack those I care about. And she sees you as the nearest warrior who can protect them.”

Connor raised an eyebrow, pleased. “Huh. Well I’ll try, should the need arise, but aren’t there, like, ten Slayers in LA?”

“She reckons they would be busy protecting the general population. She seems to think you are… devoted to me. Or that you should be.”

It was all rather uncomfortable, but Connor didn’t seem bothered, telling him to give his number to Nina so she could call if there was an emergency.

Angel still marvelled at how calm and unperturbed his son had turned out; somehow it made the memories of the past even worse. Knowing how resilient the boy was, how he took everything in his stride, the damage inflicted by Holtz and Jasmine was thrown into sharper relief.

Checking his watch again, he realised that Spike was now nearly half an hour late.

“In times past I would not have tolerated such tardiness,” Illyria remarked, and Angel - swearing to himself - finally brought out his cellphone. The guy had had almost a _week_ with Buffy, was it too much to ask that he arrived on time?

Once Angel got through, Spike was of course completely unapologetic. And since he was still miles away, Angel decided that they had better go to him. 

He glowered silently when Spike gave him directions based on a past murder - it was bad enough having silent reminders everywhere, having someone pretty much _reminisce_ was worse... 

As he stepped through the portal he was about to tell Spike in no uncertain terms how he felt, but seeing who his companion was, Angel abruptly forgot what he was about to say. Of all the people in the world, Riley Finn was the last one he’d expected to find Spike chatting with. And, vaguely remembering a very drunk conversation half a year ago in London, he frowned.

“What’s going on?”

Spike shrugged. “Nothing much, I was just doing him a favour, since I owed him one... where are we going again?”

Angel decided to ignore the Riley part, since he _really_ didn’t want to know, and confined himself to answering the question.

“To negotiate with the Ramulka-ha clan. Did someone extract your brain over Christmas?” 

Without waiting for a response he stepped through Illyria’s new portal to the demons’ dimension.

For a moment he wondered if maybe Illyria had gotten it wrong, as there was no sign of the ‘great palaces’ he’d had described to him. All around them a huge forest grew - giant, towering pale purple trees with foliage so thick the sun barely shone through. 

With a sinking heart, Angel realised that this would be another one of those ‘blunder about until hitting something’ situations that was always so infuriating and boring. 

Illyria - never one for chit-chat - just set off, her inner compass needle once more directing them. She didn’t even bother casting them a glance to see if they were following, knowing full well that they had no alternative. After her antics at Christmas, Angel was particularly annoyed about being beholden to her, but there was nothing he could do, no alternative option. Gloomily he trudged along, wishing that he could somehow get one over on their Old One.

Spike on the other hand seemed annoyingly chipper.

After they had been walking for a good while, and noticing Spike didn’t even swear when he accidentally stood in a muddy puddle that had been hidden underneath the bracken or when a branch flicked across his face, Angel finally asked:

“OK, what’s with the happy face?”

“I beat up Riley Finn,” Spike answered, nimbly jumping over a fallen tree. “And not just that, but pretty much had him eating out of my hand first. Well the other way round actually - could have eaten _him_ if I’d wanted. Oh you should have _seen_ the look on his face when he began figuring out what was going on. Bloody priceless.” He grinned wickedly. “Best. Christmas. _Ever_!”

Angel couldn’t help smiling back, but still had to ask. 

“And how’s Buffy? I mean, if _Riley_ was the best thing about your Christmas...”

Spike, not even attempting to raise to the bait, smoothly answered. 

“She’s fine. Bit worried about this apocalypse that’s on the horizon, but apparently Willow had a break-through in her translating recently, so they’re hoping for the best. Oh - and she’d like it if we could do some training with the young ‘uns. Gettin’ a bit too complacent apparently, and she wants them toughening up if it really is the end of the world. Said we could probably give her a hand, yeah?”

Angel nodded slowly. Although the thought of training sessions abruptly and painfully reminded him of Cordy, it might be nice to do some simple sparring - fighting for his life every other day was wearying.

As evening fell some hours later, Angel noticed something. “Hey...”

He walked up to an oddly shaped moss-covered lump, and pulled away the green covering. Underneath was a softly gleaming white piece of marble - perfectly smooth, and with a careful pattern along one side.

In the growing darkness they discovered the remnants of what must once have been a magnificent place - and yet clearly it had been destroyed a long time ago. It would seem that the Ramulka-ha had _not_ retired of their own will...

Yet again Angel found himself depressed at how many worlds were now nothing more than shadows of what they'd once been. Unlike the human world, where one empire followed another, in most demon dimensions once decline started, it was often terminal. Demons could be smart and cunning, but most lacked imagination and vision - no wonder the Senior Partners were so focussed on the humans.

He wondered what had happened here, and why. And if there were any left of the Ramulka-ha... Still, the Labyrinth ought to be there still. From what he had been told it would appear to be pretty indestructible - although getting in might be a problem.

After four days they came to the end of the forest and were faced with a wide, empty plain, before the ground rose up to tall mountains in the far distance. But... in between the forest and the mountains was a village, made up of hundreds of finely woven huts centered around a large, ancient looking tree. And there – towering behind the village - there was what appeared to be a long, grey-blue petrified wall. Could it really be the Labyrinth?

Now all they needed was for the clan to grant them access.

When they neared the huts, Angel saw a welcoming committee already waiting; the demons had built their village very strategically - there was nowhere to hide on the open plain. Everyone - friend or foe - was forced to walk in full view of the village for many miles.

The demons were tall and slender - almost elegant - with pale skin and large, widely set, red eyes, watching the world impassively. There was something oddly insect-like about them, although maybe it was just their immense stillness. Or possibly their very taut, smooth skin. They wore long, pale red robes, carefully embroidered and decorated, the designs echoing those they had found on the ruins in the forest. 

Spike however looked up at the wall and whistled softly.

“Sleeping Beauty, eat your heart out!”

Angel could only nod in assent. The Labyrinth had obviously been grown, rather than built as he’d first thought, and it looked old enough to have been around since Illyria’s time. It was nigh-on impossible to estimate how tall it was, but Angel reckoned it’d dwarf even the tallest building in LA, and had stood there so long that the wood had petrified - an impenetrable mass of twisted branches, white-ish blue, and probably as tough as granite. There was no obvious entrance, so - just as predicted - they’d have to do some talking.

The negotiations took a long while, but were eased by the fact that the Shaman spoke fairly decent English. Unfortunately Angel, trying to make small talk, asked what sort of catastrophe had occurred - it must have been quite spectacular to wipe out most of the population and reduce a once great city to rubble. The reply was a stentorian silence, and he swiftly apologised, but in his mind he silently ruled out natural causes.

Deciding to take a chance, he put on his best Friendly CEO Face, and decided to go for broke.

“We are enemies of the Wolf, Ram and Hart, and we are on a quest to undo their power. We hope that a part of our puzzle is in this Labyrinth. Would it be possible for you to grant us access?”

At his words there was a sudden glimmer in the otherwise calm eyes of the shaman across from him, and Angel had to stop himself from smiling in triumph.

Unless he was completely mistaken, he’d wager quite a lot that the Ramulka-ha had somehow gotten on Wolfram and Hart’s bad side - maybe attempting to break their contract, if they were clients - and had reaped the standard punishment. 

The whole dimension appeared faded and somehow lost, with a quiet resentment running underneath - an impotent anger at a bright past snatched away. But if the clan's residual wrath could be used to further Angel's war, then that was good. 

And so was the fact that the shaman stopped slyly asking for monetary donations.

Illyria - whom Angel had half-expected to lead the negotiations - had watched in silence, blue eyes not giving anything away. She hadn’t spoken at all since they’d arrived… something which should give Angel pause, but right now he was just grateful.

The shaman - clearly a cautious individual - warned them that no one had ever come back from the Labyrinth. Having been told this numerous times already, they just nodded and said that this didn’t deter them. Angel almost expected them to get out some sort of form for them to sign, saying that the Ramulka-ha were not to be held responsible for any unfortunate incidents. Or maybe he’d just spent too long with lawyers.

After a long while however, it would appear that they had satisfied whatever criteria the demons wanted, but the shaman then informed them that he had to consult the spirits of their ancestors before he could let them in. 

This was such a standard procedure that not even Spike complained anymore, and they watched the shaman and his helpers set off towards the forest with tired resignation.

Two days later the small party returned, and the shaman bowed deeply, saying that the Champions had been found worthy and he would start the ritual as soon as the sun set. 

The ritual, as it turned out, took most of the night. Angel thought that this was a good sign - this was by far the best protected place they’d seen in a long while, just the sort of impossible-to-get-at place that would be a perfect hiding place for a piece of the Dead Key. 

As the sun peered over the horizon, a messenger came to fetch them. They made their way up to the Labyrinth wall, and, as the shaman recited yet another round of incantations, they saw an opening slowly grow in amongst the branches. As though a silent wind was blowing the boughs bent back, revealing a dark and cold space, and not even the faintest glimmer of light appeared to get through.

As they motioned to enter, Illyria held up the hand in which she was not holding her axe, and turned to them - a most unpleasant look in her eyes. 

“Kallkyn ikki loyvd.”

“Hey - that sounds like-” Spike began, but didn’t get any further as Illyria punched him so hard he flew several feet backwards. He didn’t get up, and Angel realised he was out cold. As he turned to the hell god, an angry diatribe on his lips, he belatedly realised that her foot was swinging towards him with deadly precision- and then everything went black.

When he came to again, he was met with the sight of several demons bent over him, clucking worriedly, and arguing with each other. 

Illyria had vanished, and the gateway into the Labyrinth had grown back together as if never there. No prizes for working out what had happened… The Queen Bitch had decided she didn’t want sidekicks for this adventure.

Slowly he sat up, rubbing his sore head, and finally looked around to see Spike carefully getting on his feet. The other walked up to him, followed by hovering Ramulka-ha’s, and Angel noticed the colourful bruise spreading across his face.

“Now I reckon that was for the bar,” Spike said, resignedly, and Angel nodded. Illyria always, one way or another, got her own back - ‘forgive and forget’ wasn’t part of her vocabulary. And the fact that she’d made them look like idiots was probably just a bonus in her world.

The Ramulka-ha’s were still staring at them, whispering urgently amongst themselves, clearly thrown. The shaman, obviously worn out after all his recent work and looking actually upset, informed them that he could not perform the rite a second time until ‘the new moon passed before the old moon’ - whatever that meant - and Angel shrugged. 

“Nevermind. We’ll just wait for her to come back.”

The shaman muttered something under his breath, and turned away, clearly not thinking she had a hope. Angel refused to even consider the possibility that she’d not return - he had great faith in her tenaciousness.

Spike dug out a cigarette, then flicked open his lighter and carefully lit up, before taking a deep drag. 

“So - don’t suppose you brought any cards?”

***

The week that followed was one of the slowest Angel could ever remember. Spike had been ready to crawl up the walls of the Labyrinth on the second day, and he only got more difficult when he ran out of cigarettes on the third. Angel had at first found the atmosphere soothing, but even he was beginning to wish for _something_ to happen - anything at all.

The Ramulka-ha were careful and precise in everything; a bit like demonic Shakers, except that they had a penchant for ornate, intricate designs, rather than simplicity. Everything they made and used was beautiful, and it wasn’t hard to see how they’d once used these skills to further their people... 

For the first few days he tried to chat and be friendly. Partly in order to see if maybe he could find out a little more about the history, partly just to pass the time, but the Ramulka-ha had the single-minded outlook of true artists and were busy from dusk till dawn and not interested in small talk.

He and Spike had been stuck before of course, abandoned in the dimension with the endless rain, but those demons had been warriors first and foremost, a forthright and tough species. He’d been happy to leave, but had they been forced to stay the two of them could probably have found a place within their society.

But they seemed to have nothing at all in common with the Ramulka-ha. Apart from the manufacture of their pots, baskets, clothing and other items, they cultivated arid fields for growing food, necessitating daily water gathering from the river which was a full hour’s walk away. 

The first time he witnessed the procession setting off, a long row of tall, willow-y youth with large, ornate jars balanced on their heads, he asked why they hadn’t located their village closer to the river? And were there no beasts of burden which they could use? 

Silence was his only answer. 

He quickly learned that this was their standard response to anything they didn’t want to discuss. No arguments, no excuses, just silence.

After a while he wondered if maybe they were literally cursed. Being unable to voice any upset couldn’t possibly be a choice, it had to be something enforced. 

Even the children were stoic and quiet, watching their unusual visitors with large curious eyes, but never daring to speak. Not that they had any time to play or fool around - from the moment they were old enough to walk, they were in training, tiny little hands marshalled into creating beauty. 

He almost said something, but then thought better of it. What alternatives were there? At least it was peaceful. There were worse lives, that was for sure.

There wasn’t even the frisson of dangerous predators or warring tribes. Nothing at all to break the monotony of the quiet, everyday life. So after a few days he found himself joining Spike on one of his hunting expeditions, more out of boredom than anything else, and discovered that the experience was far more enjoyable than he had anticipated. Not that he told Spike that of course. 

Besides, there was nothing else for them to eat, since the Ramulka-ha were vegan in their diet and he didn’t fancy the gruel-like substance they seemed to be surviving on.

Still, the boredom made him miss Nina even more - knowing that there was a place where he could just relax and not worry about anything was like a special, private treasure. He often conjured up the image of Nina’s face - sweet and still so innocent, despite her strength. And her warm, supple body was not far behind in his fantasies. Shame that the huts had such thin walls...

Then on the 8th day something finally happened, and Angel desperately wished for the peace that would never return.

***

It was late afternoon, the shadows lengthening as the sun sent a few last beams across the landscape before vanishing behind the horizon, when there was a sudden commotion. Spike, who had been reduced to whittling stakes and crossbow darts to stave off boredom, glanced up and suddenly froze. Angel raised his eyes too - and barely believed what he saw.

Across the plain walked a lawyer - wearing a neat suit and tasteful tie, carrying a briefcase and not a hair out of place. The smug look on his face would have felt right at home on Lindsey MacDonald’s features.

Slowly both vampires got up from their resting place underneath the large tree in the middle of the village and waited, weapons concealed and ready.

The shaman went out to greet the stranger, and at their greeting Angel felt his fingers tighten around his dagger.

“We apologise most profusely for having to send for you - but their God went into the Labyrinth without them. And we did not know what to do.”

“No problem,” the lawyer smoothly replied. “If they’re stupid enough to trust someone who betrayed them, then that is not your fault. I would have come sooner, but the time difference is most inconvenient. So - where are our Champions?”

When they arrived, Angel coldly looked past the lawyer and caught the shaman’s eyes, the demon’s face as much of a blank as ever.

“You betrayed us!” he said, angrily, and the lawyer chuckled. “My dear Mr Angel, your surprise is rather amusing. Surely you know the price on your head is quite extraordinary - quite large enough to repay this people’s debt and more besides... It’s a shame you didn’t all go into the Labyrinth, but that can’t be helped. At least your Goddess has been taken out of action. But - as things stand, I have some paperwork I need you to complete.” 

He opened his briefcase, and pulled out a piece of paper and a pen. 

“What do you mean?” Angel asked, eyes darting to the tall, foreboding wall, now almost vanished in the encroaching darkness. 

The lawyer smiled. “I need you to sign here, and here-”

“No - about the Labyrinth and Illyria. What’s in it?” 

“I’m sorry, I’m not here to answer questions, only to make sure the paperwork is done correctly.”

“Very funny,” Angel answered, pulling out his dagger. “I’d like some answers, and I’d like them now!”

A nasty glint appeared in the lawyer’s eyes. “Your little hell god is lost forever - you can trust me on that one. And how very fortunate that you have a knife - you will of course have to sign in blood!”

The lawyer raised his hand, and with a sudden, terrified lurch in his stomach Angel felt his own hand move, before neatly slicing his left palm open.

“I also happen to be a necromancer,” the lawyer said coldly. “We did not want any more surprises from you... Please, take the pen. As I said, signature here, here and here.”

As Angel helplessly dipped the pen in his own blood, he almost felt sick. It couldn’t end like this... except, of course, that apparently it already had. This was what Illyria had worried about, at Christmas. A plan behind the scenes… It had all been too easy for them. He briefly wondered what really was at the heart of that Labyrinth, but if Wolfram and Hart thought that it could do away with a hell god, then they probably had their reasons - maybe it had been a trap? And what was the document - another way of stealing his free will?

The lawyer smiled a superior smile as the nib of the pen touched the paper - and then suddenly his head was at Angel’s feet. Angel swayed, unstable, as he abruptly regained control of his own body, and could sense Spike re-gaining his balance too. But all he could see was Illyria, bloodied axe in hand, studying him.

“Can I never leave you alone without you getting into trouble?” she asked, looking from one to the other, and then kicked the headless body out of the way. She could have taught Lindsey a thing or two about understated smugness.

“But how... he said that you were lost...”

Belatedly he realised that he was still holding the pen, and broke it, before he brought up his injured hand to his mouth, gently cleaning the wound with his tongue. Thankfully it had almost stopped bleeding by now. 

Illyria looked round at the shocked faces of the clan who were surrounding them, and silently shook her head. Then, with a small smile, she held up her left hand, in which she held a bundle - it looked as though there was writing on the fabric, but Angel couldn’t make it out. 

Slowly Spike reached out. “Is that-?”

Illyria nodded once, and Spike grinned widely as he shoved the bundle into his pocket, and Angel could feel relief and accomplishment flood through him. Their search wasn’t in vain!

“Better get the hell out of dodge, eh?” Spike remarked, and Angel took in the great number of demons silently staring at them in the darkness - the usual evening ritual of lighting the village fire obviously having been forgotten in the upheaval.

Slowly he shook his head. “No - we’re not done here.” Taking a step back he broke a branch off the huge tree behind him, and he could hear the gasp from all around. The tree was holy - apparently a shoot of the giant labyrinth wall from ancient times - and only the shaman was allowed to touch it.

“Give me your lighter,” Angel said to Spike, and, after a swift glance, the other obeyed.

There was now a wall of demons all around them, a palpable air of anger in their eyes and careful movements.

“Listen!” Angel said, eyes fixed on the shaman, as he deliberately flicked open the lighter and set fire to the branch in his hand. “You betrayed us - and there will be a price to pay. Let it be known that this is a war, and whoever works against us _will_ be made to suffer!”

He held his torch aloft, and then in a swift movement turned and let the flames leap onto the tree. 

A wail arose and Angel smiled harshly. “I will leave you alive - but that is all. If that is mercy or not I shall let you decide.”

Then he flung his burning branch over the crowd’s heads, and it landed with perfect precision on the roof of the shaman’s hut. The finely woven sturdy grass caught fire in an instant, and, thanks to the evening breeze, soon enough more huts were ablaze. 

Panic broke out as the crowd suddenly scattered, desperate to salvage their homes as the flames spread and orange tongues licked up against the now black sky.

(And water was an hour away…)

Turning his head, Angel saw Spike studying him, face closed. He could imagine only too vividly what the other vampire was thinking. Wordlessly he handed the lighter back, and Spike pocketed it with a hollow-sounding “Thanks”. 

Illyria however was watching the mayhem with undiluted pleasure, before turning her eyes on Angel. “You act like the great rulers of old. It... pleases me.”

Slowly Angel bent down, emptied the lawyer’s pockets and collected everything in the briefcase. As he stood up, he caught a furtive movement out of the corner of his eye, and a second later threw himself down on the ground to avoid the blast of magic that the shaman had directed at him. Before he had another chance, Angel’s dagger was embedded in his chest.

Getting back on his feet, retrieving his weapon, he saw Spike look around with an unhappy face. “Really ought to get out.”

Angel nodded, but for a moment took in the inferno all around. He’d spent his year at Wolfram and Hart trying to live with a compromise that tore him in half. Having finally made his choice, he had turned himself into that which he was fighting - trying to reach a different goal, sure, but using the same methods. 

All he wanted was to go back to Nina, to recapture that wonderful Christmas spirit he had soaked himself in so thoroughly before ‘Fred’s’ appearance, but looking at the hell he’d created he suddenly couldn’t bear the thought of anyone looking at him with admiration. 

What was it Spike had said about Buffy wanting some help with her Slayers? That suddenly sounded like a great idea - actually doing some straightforward good for once. And Buffy would look at him with that mixed expression of disapproval and disappointment... the sort of look Nina ought to send him too. With a deep sigh he faced up to the fact that he needed to be honest with her - not that he'd ever lied, but he had never told her straight what it was that he did... because he knew that then it would be over - again. For good. But he couldn't face that conversation right now.

“Illyria - take us to Rome.”

She nodded, and just like that they were back in the world of humans - staring at Buffy’s door. As though he hadn’t just destroyed a whole peoples’ livelihood - he’d seen the storage huts catch fire just as they left...

Buffy looked rather surprised when she opened the door, cellphone to her ear, but waved them in nonetheless.

“Um, Willow,” she said into her phone, “Can I call you back? I’ve just been invaded by vampires...”

***

With a sigh Willow said goodbye to Buffy, and for the thousandth time brushed off a little bug. She’d spent six days in the desert now, waiting for her hell beastie to show up, and so far there had been nothing except bugs and scorching heat. She’d been over her notes a million times, re-calibrated and re-translated every scrap of information and ancient prophecy she had, and it _ought_ to be here by now...

Then suddenly she could feel a strange tugging sensation at the very edge of her awareness, and the bug she’d shooed away had now come back with five little friends. She watched in wonder as they flew up in front of her face, creating a perfect circle in the air, their bodies fanning out like a flower - then more tiny winged creatures and insects joined in, creating a fantastical, living pattern, and Willow suddenly realised that this had to be the ‘Circle of the Least’, that had so vexed her when translating...

Through the ever-expanding ring she could now see a shimmery shape slowly become solid; whispery shadows gradually solidifying into a firm body. Three heads, six legs, fantastical horns growing ever larger, and faces both terrible and hideous... 

But Willow only saw power. She took a deep breath, smiled, and walked through the circle.


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> By the way, I think I will go back to a regular posting schedule - a new chapter every other Saturday. Thank you all for reading. <3

_January 2005_

Spike stepped through Buffy’s door and into Buffy’s arms. He held her silently for a moment, feeling her warmth through the fabric between them and inhaling her wonderful scent. He never wanted to leave. 

But then he let her go, dumping their weapons’ bag by the door and settling down tiredly on her pretty, white sofa. How come that he was so exhausted after a week of doing nothing?

Buffy clearly sensed that something was wrong and looked from him to Angel and then to Illyria who was smiled enigmatically; and then back to Spike again, a frown deepening on her forehead.

“Are you OK? You smell like... smoke... Oh my god, did someone try to set you on fire?”

Angel’s face was a mask, and wordlessly he turned and started looking at the photos scattered on the mantlepiece, body so tense that Spike was sure that if someone tried to touch him he’d rip their head off without even looking who it was first. 

Tiredly Spike rubbed his eyes, wondering what the hell to say, then looked at Buffy. “No - we’re...” Seeing the worried look on her face, he faltered. “We’re fine. Technically at least.”

The smell of smoke clung to them, rasping in his throat, and he wanted nothing more than to wash it off, but he knew it’d not help - he’d still remember the scene every time he closed his eyes. 

_The dead bodies - the lawyer and the shaman both, and the double-cross they symbolised - the flames from Angel’s fire-y torch spreading further and further, the panicked screams…_

Buffy was still rather thrown he could tell, obviously wondering what had happened to them... if she’d known Illyria better, Spike reflected, she’d know that the fact that the hell god was happy meant that they’d been stepping over several moral boundaries. Thank goodness she didn’t - although she was clearly expecting more of an answer.

“Look - it’s just... just been a rough week, yeah? But we thought we could come and give you a hand with the girls, like you asked. Could do with a good workout...”

She looked at him silently for a while, then, much to his relief, nodded. She’d probably try to get the story out of him later, but knew that now was not the time. Instead she smiled, her take-charge attitude showing up and masking the discomfort. “That’s great. Your timing is impeccable, ‘cause I was just about to go... Lemme just get changed.”

She disappeared into the bedroom, closing the door behind her, and a second later Angel turned, seeking out Spike’s eyes.

“I had to-” he began, but Spike cut him off. 

“I know.” 

They couldn’t afford to show mercy. 

Especially not against traitors... And Spike felt the sting of the treachery again. But then it had been a well-timed lesson: Just because someone hated Wolfram and Hart didn’t mean that they could be trusted. Things had been so simple - so much simpler than back here they’d thought. Some demons had been against them, others had helped. Some had been trying to trick them, but the attempts had been so obvious - there were creatures like Willy everywhere. 

This had been different. They couldn’t even be sure if it’d been the whole clan acting together, or just the shaman working on his own. Overall they’d just been so... _harmless_. Like all artists, so absorbed in their work that they invariably came off as somewhat aloof - and defenseless in the face of true danger. Spike was sure that if he’d asked what they thought of fighting and war they would have echoed his own words from many, many years ago: 

_‘We prefer not to think of such dark, ugly business at all. We prefer placing our energies into creating things of beauty.’_

But pathetic little poets got murdered in dark alleys, and artists who tried to get themselves back in favour with the establishment got punished by those trying to overthrow the status quo. 

He buried his head in his hands, not wanting to look at Angel and see the self-loathing magnified. It was all too complicated and difficult - and he didn’t like it. There was good, and there was bad - surely they shouldn’t be so muddled up? For the first time he truly began questioning the nature of their quest. Then with a start he remembered that they’d actually been successful - were another step closer to their goal.

But at that moment Buffy returned, and he’d have to wait until later before adding the new piece of Key to the rest. He should feel elated - and yet it struck him that they had found all three pieces in ways that made him deeply uncomfortable. Maybe it was cursed? Or maybe it was just the inevitable result of being messed up in W&H business... everything got tainted and murky.

He needed a distraction, and thankfully Buffy was there to provide it. She of course looked amazing - her legs wrapped in tight black leggings with a pale blue tank top above was balm to his eyes. She’d pulled her hair back into a practical ponytail, but he could still almost feel the silkiness of it beneath his fingers... She was softness and strength all wrapped up together, and he still found it hard to believe that she was really his. That when he caught her eyes, like now, she smiled at him in a way that made everything else fuzzy and out of focus.

Angel turned, swiftly putting back the photo he’d absently held in his hands, then looked at Buffy, face blank, and asked simply, “We going?” and Buffy frowned again. 

Illyria, who’d been silent and lost in a world of her own, suddenly snapped her head round. Looking from one to the other, she held out her axe to Spike with the words: “Clean it!”

He stared at her, wanting to tell her to go to hell, but with a sigh he realised that Angel was her favourite for the foreseeable future, and she’d also expect lots of gratitude - which in her world equalled servitude - for saving their lives. Rolling his eyes he muttered, “Fine!” and got up, before getting a cloth from Buffy’s weapons’ chest.

“Kill anything fun?” Buffy asked, trying to make conversation as she tied the laces on her trainers, and Illyria looked at her; a tiny, triumphant smile on her lips.

“Lawyer.”

“Oh,” Buffy answered, and didn’t ask anymore. A moment later Spike handed the axe back to Illyria, hoping that Buffy’s curiosity was satisfied for good - if she thought they felt guilty over Illyria’s kill, that was fine... because he didn’t want to talk; didn’t want to try to put into words all the complex feelings and myriad shades of guilt that he now carried around. Briefly he wondered when he’d stopped thinking of lawyers as human, and worthy of anguish. 

“Ready?” Angel asked, and Buffy nodded as Spike picked up their bag. They’d not had any use for it this time around... If nothing else they had lots of new darts.

It was a grey and overcast day, so they needn’t worry about burning up. As they set off, Buffy took Spike’s hand, and he grasped onto her like the lifeline she was. He desperately wanted to haul her off somewhere and do his best to drown in her, but that was out of the question until whenever Angel had left - if he was leaving. The fact that Angel probably wouldn’t mind the two of them making out under his nose - might even welcome the added pain - ruled it out even more... 

Whenever Spike tried to work out just how their relationship fitted, he got a headache. 

“So,” he asked, holding Buffy’s hand a little tighter, “What do you want us to do with the lil’ ones?”

She sighed. “Well, you know they were all the most ‘hopeless’ ones - those that would never have been called if it wasn’t for me. Like... some of them were insecure, and some were totally unimaginative, and some had just freaked out... I used to have almost 20, but about half left in the autumn - which is good, of course. Buffy’s extra-special training program works wonders! The problem is that... I think I’ve been doing _too_ good a job,” she smiled wryly. “They’re all brilliant now, and think they’re kinda invincible. And now of course there’s this apocalypse coming - again...” her voice trailed off and Angel turned his head to look at her.

“It’s going to be bad?”

She nodded, and the frown was back. But now it was obviously there because of her own problems. 

“I thought that... things would be easier now there are lots of us, but instead I’m just worrying how many are going to die - because of me. Again. If Willow is right, this thing goes down in about a year’s time, but we still don’t know where... Oh and there’s supposed to be lots of signs and stuff, not sure what exactly, so keep your eyes open for two-headed cats and a rain of stones...”

Despite the half-joke, there was a tired note in her voice that reminded Spike of times he’d rather not think about, and he could see Angel sinking even further down into brood mode. Well this had to stop - before long they’d all be sitting in a corner somewhere, drinking whiskey and listening to Country music. Time for him to shake things up a little.

“Well - if you see the Four Horsemen, tell them hello from Spike!”

“Huh?” She turned her head, and he grinned at her. Angel even pulled himself out of his self-imposed silence and shot him a droll look. “You never told her? Or were you so drunk that you’ve only just remembered?”

He laughed. “Nah - but she put a veto on talking about anything apocalypse-related for Christmas.”

Buffy was looking at them both, unsure whether to take them seriously or not. “The Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse - you... _met_ them?”

He nodded proudly, and felt that thrill of pure excitement again - there were legends and then there were _legends..._

“Bloody brilliant guys, to tell you the truth. Oh and if they show up, then whoever is organising your apocalypse has plenty of spare change - their fee is fuckin’ _astronomical_. But then that’s the thing with being famous - they got their name into the big book, and now they’ve got it _made_. Oh and -” He turned to Buffy and raised an eyebrow, “-they really like _you_.”

She stared at him. “Me?”

“Quite the fans to be honest. I mean they’d heard ‘bout me and Angel obviously, what with tryin’ to save or destroy the world a few times, but you’re in a league of your own.”

She flushed, unable to stop a genuine smile deepening, and he could feel the world beginning to feel right again. 

Angel rolled his eyes. “You turned into Andrew, and you know it. I’m surprised you didn’t ask for their autograph.”

“I did!” Spike countered, rooting through his pockets, after a moment’s search bringing out one of his cards, with four signatures crammed onto the back.

Studying it, Angel shook his head. “You’re insane.”

Spike grinned. “Well if we’re ever in need of cash that will fetch a small fortune on eBay.”

Illyria didn’t say anything, but Spike had the distinct impression that she’d pricked up her ears when the talk turned to money. 

Which was so weird that he decided to ignore it.

Then they began discussing what to do with the baby Slayers, and by the time they reached the Council building had worked out a nice strategy that hopefully ought to unsettle them enough to sit up and take notice.

As Spike and Angel watched the warm-up a little later, Spike cast the other vampire a droll look, “So - ready to shatter some illusions?”

“Ready to help them grow up,” Angel answered, studying the vivid young faces of the girls as they went through their exercises. Spike tilted his head.

“Oh and you might like to know that Cora - the black girl, in the green top - is left-handed; Gemma - the brown haired one with the ponytail - has a way with an axe that’s quite something; although Kristina - the blonde gawky-looking one - is probably the best of the lot. Watch out, she’s got imagination!”

Angel turned his head, frowning. “You’ve done this before?”

Spike shrugged. “Given Buffy a hand a couple of times, nothin’ more than some simple sparrin’... Oh - try to ignore the smell. First time they pretty much walked all over me ‘cause I kept gettin’ distracted.”

Angel rolled his eyes, and then they straightened up and gripped their wooden swords as Buffy called the girls together.

“OK. You know how I said that we need to train extra hard, because of the apocalypse? Well we just got some help!” She indicated Spike and Angel with her hand, and a quick flurry of excitement flared up, before Buffy’s stern eyes quelled it. But Spike noticed all the swift, adoring glances sent their way. And suddenly he could again see bright orange flames licking up against a black sky, and hear the screams of panic... 

All the way down memory lane, the same cries echoed, and this was a fresh reminder again of what he was... He had joked once that he and Angel had a good cop/bad cop thing going - except it wasn’t funny when the good cop had to let the bad one beat the witness into oblivion...

He shuddered, and vowed to stop those adoring looks for good, if he could at all help it. He knew none of the girls had ever connected the dots between Spike-Buffy’s-boyfriend and Spike-the-slayer-of-Slayers in a real and tangible way. Absentmindedly he grabbed hold of his pendant, taking a deep breath as he felt its reassuring weight against his palm.

“I know you’re very good,” Buffy continued, and the young Slayers all smiled proudly, “ _but_ \- and that is a big but - “ Spike saw some of the girls try to hide a smile, before Buffy swiftly continued, “- you’ve never really had any proper big fights - and _no_ , that gross sewer thing doesn’t count, nor does that battle with the Frofundo clan. I mean fights where your opponent is older, stronger and more experienced than you, and _will_ kick your ass! So - please say hello to today's guests - two Champions who more than fulfill those criteria.”

Spike could almost feel Angel wince, but there it was. He cleared his throat.

“OK then my ladies - grab your pointy sticks and let’s see what you’re made of!”

Spike smiled, turning the charm up as far as he could, and he saw two of them blush. Oh, fighting dirty could be fun...

“But-” a dark haired girl spoke up, a little shyly, “Won’t that be dangerous... for you I mean?”

Spike shook his head, incredulous. He had to hand it to Buffy, these girls weren’t lacking in confidence. 

“Listen pet, it won’t come to that. An’ if it does - in which case I’ll dress up in a tutu and sing ‘Mandy’ - we’re wearing armour, so knock yourself out!”

“Oh,” she said, obviously rather flummoxed, and Spike grinned. He could see Buffy’s brow draw together, but he didn’t care. He was itching for a good fight, not having had a decent one in weeks - and this one was just the ticket. 

“Step on up then!” he called out, and they looked at each other. 

“What - all nine of us against just you two?” Gemma asked.

“Well _duh_!” Spike replied.

“But... that doesn’t seem fair.”

“Fair’s got nothing to do with it,” Angel said, voice calm and deceptively light, but Spike could hear the strain underneath.

There was another moment’s hesitation, but then the girls attacked, and finally Spike could forget about everything that weighed on him.

It was probably insane - trying to fight nine slayers at once, but to begin with there was quite simply not enough space, and it was rather amusing to see them almost jostling for room... and Buffy was right. They were good - but not used to smart opponents. Spike took two down within the first minute, and then Kristina’s stake got far too close for comfort - damn that girl was fast - before he managed to slip under her defenses. As he and Angel thinned the crowd they split up, and suddenly they were both fighting one-against-one... and then the game was up. 

Spike looked down at the last slayer - who’d been standing just a moment earlier - and frowned in surprise. He turned to Angel, and saw the other with the same puzzled look on his face.

“Well that’s... did she just go down too?”

Angel nodded.

Spike looked round at the rather sheepish looking girls, and couldn’t help smiling. “Hey - the first time I fought Buffy, I got the better of _her_ too!”

He could see Buffy open her mouth, and stopped her before she could speak. “Oh I _so_ did! If it hadn’t been for your mum...”

One if the girls - Megan he thought her name was - piped up.

“Her mother?”

Spike nodded. “Hit me over the head with an axe. Brilliant woman, Joyce Summers!”

He caught Buffy’s eyes, and suddenly the whole world fell away. “ _’No one puts a hand on my little girl’_ , she said...”

Buffy smiled, eyes huge and shining, and he was one step away from crossing the room and pulling her into his arms, when he remembered where they were. 

“Anyway - she held her own. Which is more than I can say for you...” He let his eyes travel over the girls, then shot Angel a look, and the other continued, speaking to Buffy. 

“You’ve trained them too well. They’re formidable as a group, but once they’re on their own they flag.”

Spike could see Buffy nodding slowly, and smiled a little. “Kinda bizarre, I gotta tell you. Wanna show ‘em how it’s done?”

A wicked glint appeared in Buffy’s eyes, and she nodded.

***

Angel settled down on one of the benches along the wall, watching as Spike threw off his duster before he and Buffy began circling each other. He could sense the anticipation in the girls next to him, and couldn’t help sharing some of it - although he couldn’t shake the feeling of deja-vu that settled over him... thankfully though, this time the ending would be different.

Then suddenly Spike pounced and all thoughts vanished as Angel became utterly absorbed in the battle that unfolded. He noticed that Buffy had a stake in her hand, and she had a few almost-hits that Spike laughed off. Angel saw him try the move that had done for her last time, but now she slipped away easily, and Angel marvelled again at how amazing she was. He remembered sparring with her himself, and how easily things had almost gotten out of hand... 

_Focus, focus - don’t think about the past, don’t dwell on the fact that you’ve lost her for good..._

The fight flowed back and forth, skill and cunning and strength unfolding in an astonishing display that kept the onlookers riveted. Suddenly Spike sent Buffy crashing into a wall, but she kicked his legs out from underneath him and the next second she was straddling him, stake to his chest. 

“See?” 

She looked around at the avid faces, triumph and a touch of smugness in her eyes. The girls broke into spontaneous applause - eyes bright and excited and obviously hero-worshipping Buffy even more than before. 

Angel noticed the second she shifted her weight a fraction, but even so he was almost taken aback at Spike’s swift reaction. In the blink of an eye he had reversed their positions, his hands around Buffy’s throat.

He looked up at the shocked faces, eyes hard and cold: “And now - she’s dead.” 

Angel followed his gaze, saw certainties crushed into nothing. It was clear that the girls thought that Buffy could do no wrong, could never fail - and now they’d witnessed her bested in front of their eyes. And her cool, handsome, charming boyfriend had just reminded them that he was a murderer. 

Then Spike continued, voice calm and matter of fact; but Angel knew exactly what his thoughts - his memories - were at this moment. Face after face springing to life unbidden, the blood on their hands that refused to go away...

“This was how I killed my second Slayer. She hesitated just a moment too long and then - I snapped her neck.”

The girls were silent, and abruptly Spike jumped up, then slowly - almost hesitantly - holding out his hand to Buffy.

“Sooner or later,” he continued, “You will fight alone with no one watching your back. You mess up - you die.”

Buffy took a deep breath, and shot Spike a swift look. “Thank you.”

Then she focussed on her charges again. “Dying is easy. The problem is that we are Slayers...” 

She swallowed. “You might not just fight for your own life - you might be fighting for the fate of the whole world. And in an apocalypse you get creatures far stronger than anything you’ve ever seen...”

She shot Angel a look, since he was sat next to the door, and he swiftly located their pièce de résistance.

“This is Illyria,” he said as she walked in, cooly looking over the Slayers staring at her. “She is a hell god from before the time of men.”

The girls looked a little dubious now, but Angel turned to Spike and saw the other smirking. 

“Buffy - lend us a weapon, yeah? Something strong but ugly.”

She nodded and fetched an axe, and Spike weighed in his hands, assessing.

“This’ll do. Right girls, pay careful attention. You ready Blue?”

Illyria didn’t move, and Spike shrugged, then lifted the axe before swinging it with deadly force and accuracy towards Illyria’s head. At least two of the Slayers cried out in alarm, but then Angel heard them all gasp as the blade of the axe shattered against the god’s head.

Slowly she turned her head towards him. “Are you done?”

“I... yep,” he replied, and she walked out, clearly wishing that she wasn’t forced to hang out with such lowlives.

“That’s the kind of creature you might be facing,” Buffy continued, and the girls stared at her, clearly having had a lot of their world view scrambled.

“When you’ve worked out how to deal with that, let me know! I don’t have all the answers, I just tend to make it up as I go along. We are formidable together - but I need every single one of you to be everything you can be. Every apocalypse is different. _You_ might have a role to play. _Your_ idea or work or input might be the things that tips the balance. So remember - it’s OK to be scared, but what you do with that fear is what determines the outcome.”

Settling down again next to Angel, Spike folded his arms and tilted his head critically.

“She’s gotten a lot better at this, you know.”

Off Angel’s surprised look, he chuckled.

“The speechifying. Back when we were dealing with The First… Well, it got a bit tedious.”

Angel looked as if he was going to say something, then thought better of it.

***

Johnson’s office was very cosy, and somehow very out of place in the Italianness of the building, looking more like a hobbit’s home than a Renaissance room.

Spike and Angel had elected to wait there while Buffy sorted out the Slayers’ patrolling schedules and other boring tasks, not really knowing what to do with themselves.

Spike slumped down in the sofa and pulled out the two bits of Key. Holding them together they did the freaky melding thing again, and he shook his head. Magic was an inevitable part of life, but he didn’t like the way this thing weirded him out.

Tucking the Key back in his pocket, he picked up the cloth Illyria had wrapped the Key fragment in. Looking at it more closely he saw that it was actually a shroud of some kind, the finely woven fabric covered in writing.

When Johnson entered a few minutes later Spike held the fabric out towards him.

“Thought you might like this, mate. No idea what it is, but it looks like your kind of thing.”

The Watcher stopped in his tracks and reverently plucked it out of Spike’s hand, then carefully started looking it over, eyebrows sailing to the top of his head as he did so.

“This is... this is astonishing. Really, it’s... I can’t tell you... this could change-”

He stopped and looked up at the two vampires. “Where did you find this? It was supposed to be lost forever...”

Spike shrugged. “Illyria picked it up in this labyrinth that no one can get out of - until she came along at least. What is it?”

“I think... I mean I’m not sure, but I think that it could be The Shroud of Kizrath. The difference this will mean can’t be overestimated...”

Angel’s eyes narrowed. “You mean this has info on this apocalypse of yours?”

Johnson looked up, a little thrown. “What? Oh no, not at all. This is a... a historical document, telling the life story of Kizrath… we have a few snippets of his legend, and some say that they were just stories of other warriors that got a little mixed up... But look-”

He laid the shroud on his desk, and pointed to a bit of writing that looked just as incomprehensible as the rest to Spike. 

“Here is the tale of when he met the sea serpent of Drok’kheen - I knew it was real - and oh... wait, this is complicated... Goodness... Please excuse me while I phone Mr Giles...”

The vampires shared a look, and retreated. 

In the hallway, Spike stopped and turned to Angel.

“So what are we doing?”

Angel didn’t answer, and Spike frowned. “Angel?”

The other sighed. 

“I... I don’t know. I’m just... tired.”

Spike nodded slowly, taking in what the words implied. “Do you want me to... Is there anything I can do?”

Angel shook his head silently, and Spike knew that this was one of the times where the Buffy situation complicated everything immensely. Angel wasn’t an over-sharer at the best of times, but there had been a closeness (and was _that_ ever an uncomfortable word!) between them in the pre-Rome months which was lacking now.

Then suddenly Angel seemed to pull himself together. 

“I think I’ll go see Nina. Will be back tomorrow, OK? Be ready to go early. And it might be a good idea not to leave this building.” 

There was something hiding somewhere in his eyes, something Spike couldn’t quite put his finger on, but he had a feeling that Angel had made some sort of decision. 

It worried him that he couldn’t work out what it was. 

A little after Angel had left, Buffy returned. After a lot of very satisfying kisses, her eyes suddenly widened and she pulled out her cellphone. 

“I never called Willow back! Just excuse me for a minute, she’s going to be really pissed off...”

A little later she put the cell down. “She didn’t pick up. That’s... odd.” She looked a little worried, but then shrugged it off as Spike let his hands slip under her top.

Soon they’d disappeared into one of the guest rooms, forgetting all about Willow.


End file.
